Miracle on Peachtree Street
by Brette Stallings
Summary: Dreams do come true, if you only believe...
1. Chapter 1

**This story has been pestering me to be written for months now, and now, since **_**is**_** Christmas, I finally decided to give in! I'll be holding my breath to hear what you think… well, figuratively, that is! (wink, wink)**

**Disclaimer: All recognizable characters, themes, and dialogue are the sole property of Margaret Mitchell's estate and no copyright infringement is intended. I just love Scarlett, Rhett, et al too much to leave them alone!**

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><p><strong>1.<strong>

When Wade Hampton Hamilton saw the crowd gathering at the depot to watch the Christmas parade, Atlanta's first annual, he worried what his mother might think if one of their number let spill to her that he was among them. Surely she wouldn't find out, he told himself. If she did, she might get the idea that he was too young to be trusted with the store's errand-running and return him to sweeping the floors. Truth as it was, he was quicker than any of the other clerks on his feet and a rather more enthusiastic worker. Although, he did hate to sweep.

He looked around for a friendly group to join. Mrs. Meade, he would stay far away from. She was holding onto the arm of the Doctor and looked quite displeased that she had to be there at all, although, as the Chairperson of the church social committee, she had organized the entire event. Then, to his alarm, he almost met the eyes of his own Aunt Pittypat Hamilton. The old woman had a heart of gold and fairly adored him; however, she couldn't be trusted to keep quiet to his mother, even if he asked her to do so. Old Uncle Peter, Pitty's colored coachman, was standing next to her, holding her muff in his hands and looking overwhelmed by the flurry of activity. In front of the station house five or six boys from school circled their leader, his cousin Beau Wilkes, who was wearing the same expression that Wade would have been, had he been a little more at ease, one of unequivocal joy.

"This is it!" Frank Bonnell, one of Beau's friends, said. "Santa Claus himself'll be here directly."

"Santa Claus lives in the North Pole, you idgit!" Raoul Pecard grinned back. "Well shucks boys, if it ain't Wade Hampton! Thought you couldn't make it?"

Wade shrugged, trying to keep his enthusiasm at a minimum. At the ripe old age of twelve, well, thirteen in two months time, he was each of these boys' senior, and it wouldn't do for him to look as openmouthed as they were, no sir. "Nothing else to do."

"Aunt Scarlett said you were at the store all day?" Beau inquired, then let out a knowing sigh. "Well, glad you could come for a bit."

"Can't stay." Wade muttered low so that only Beau could hear. "Fact, I'm going back to the store right now."

"Aww, c'mon Wade!" Beau smiled wide. "You've been here what, maybe two, three whole minutes? I won't tell Aunt Scarlett. Honest. You haven't even seen Santa Claus yet!"

A pained look passed over Wade's face. It was true, he had never seen Santa Claus; however, he already knew a great deal more about the man than Beau did, obviously. Beau had been raised on the same stories he had, those told by his mother, Wade's Aunt Melly, dead and buried this year past. She'd spun them all sorts of tales about the jolly old man who lived in Santaclausville, The North Pole, who brought all sorts of toys and other niceties to children who were good and minded their manners the year round. When Wade and Beau had reached a certain age, they had inquired as to whether or not such a person could _really_ exist. Aunt Melly had assured them that it was so, and to prove her point, pulled out an old edition of Harper's Weekly, in which Santa Claus was not only pictured, but immortalized in a poem by a Mister Webster.

That had satisfied Beau, who had a quiet, dreamy nature and was predisposed to believe in such things. But Wade had been skeptical.

So, with a great deal of trepidation combined with an even greater amount of courage, he had approached his mother with his quite serious inquiry on the occasion of the previous year's Christmastide. As much as he feared her wrath, he knew that his mother always told him the truth, no matter what.

"Mother?" he had asked, his words measured and voice hesitant.

"Yes, Wade Hampton?" she had replied, not looking up from the account book she had been studying.

"Mother, I … I need to ask you something."

"What is it, Wade Hampton? … Mother's busy."

"I was just wondering…Mother…Is Santa Claus a real, live man? Aunt Melly told Beau and Ella and I that he was, but I wasn't sure and I wanted to…check." Wade finished his statement lamely, and looked, embarrassed, down at his sweating palms.

His mother's elegant head had pitched back to look up at him from her figures. She looked nothing if not mad. "Now listen here, Wade Hampton, I know that Melly liked to fill your head with stories, and I don't blame you for listening to her back then. You were only a little boy. But you're almost a man now. And you're old enough to understand the difference between what's real and what's not."

"But Mother, she said that it was so. It was in the magazine!"

"Great balls of fire, do not bother me anymore about what _she_ said! It's not true, Wade Hampton. None of it. And the sooner you realize it, the better off you'll be. Now, please won't you run and play with Ella and leave me in peace?"

And that had been that. He had not revisited the topic in his mother's hearing, and he made sure that Ella did not either. Ella, for her part, was apathetic to the idea of Santa Claus, and Christmas at all, for that matter. His sweet, silly sister had changed a great deal in the past year, sometimes rivaling even Wade in the stoniness of her demeanor. His mother had seemed to appreciate the change, extending a certain amount of affection Ella's way that she had never expressed before in the slightest. And Ella seemed to revel in the attention she was getting, finding that the responses she received from her mother were most positive when she spoke like an adult. Wade, for his part, remained a quiet, casual observer. He missed his stepfather, often called away on business, who had loved him as he was, and felt no need to curry favor with his mother by behaving any differently than usual.

Beau nudged his arm, drawing him out of his daydream. "Look Wade. Over yonder, see? Look who it is! See, with Mayor Angier?"

He looked over to where Beau was pointing. Nedom L. Angier, Atlanta's esteemed mayor was standing on the gray-white gravel with a tall, broad shouldered man who Wade knew, very well indeed. It was none other than his stepfather, Rhett Butler, who had been absent even longer than usual on an undisclosed matter of business and not due home until January at the earliest.

"I wonder what he's doing here?" Beau inquired politely.

"What do you mean?" Wade retorted, a little more shortly than he had intended.

"I meant, he's been so busy … I … I guess he's just enjoying the parade same as us. You gonna go say something to him?"

Wade shrugged. "I'd better get on. Mother'll think I've been lollygagging on the way back from the bank."

"Suit yourself," Beau said. "See you later."

"Alright then," Wade waved nonchalantly, then headed into the crowd, in the direction of his stepfather, who had moved on from the Mayor and on to another man in a black suit.

"Wade!" his big voice called out over the crowd. He'd been spotted. "Wade Hampton, come over here!"

Wade walked over, not knowing whether to delight or despair that he'd been so easily noticed.

"Hi Uncle Rhett," Wade stuck his left hand out, which the older man shook, a bemused expression on his face.

"No hug? Well, I suppose that a handshake is more apropos between us men." He winked down at Wade. "I'm glad you're here. I saw you over there with your friends."

Wade managed a weak smile, not wanting to disclose that they weren't his friends; quite the opposite, they were only tolerable to him because Beau said so, and only then because Aunt Melly was considered a fallen saint, and to defy her boy was to defile her memory.

"Yes sir. I've got to go though. Mother sent me to the bank ages ago."

A strange look appeared on Rhett's face.

"So she has you working at the store?"

"On Saturdays," Wade said hurriedly, lest Uncle Rhett think he'd been set to work for a punishment. "I get a quarter for every hour I work. Mother started me at a quarter a day, but I told her that the darkies were getting near three dollars for sweeping the streets, and that's not even a day's worth of work. So she agreed that I'd earned more."

Rhett let out a chuckle. "That's telling her, Wade. Good for you."

From down the tracks came a whistle, then the marching band began to play a peppy tune. Rhett smiled. "Parade's starting. Wish Ella was down here to see Santa Claus with all the other kids. They've managed to cook up the real deal, all the way from the North Pole."

Wade drew himself up to his full height. "Uncle Rhett, you don't have to pretend for me. Mother told me the truth."

"The truth? What sort of truth was that?"

"Santa Claus. The Christmas myths. All of it's nothing but make believe."

All the talking around them stopped and the clusters of people, particularly the persons with young children began merging into one single mass. The marching band resounded, the mayor and his wife had boarded a fancily adorned open carriage, and were waving to the crowd as they drove past.

"And why … Why ever would she have said a thing like that?" Rhett's voice asked over the noise of the crowd.

"There!" someone pointed to the horse-drawn streetcar.

An old man, donning a green velvet, fur-trimmed robe over his clothes was the carriage's occupant. The man was whiskered and white-bearded, a jolly demeanor on his visage, was standing and waving jovially out the car window and bidding each and every one of them a very Merry Christmas. For a moment, Wade thought that the man was looking directly at him.

"Santa Claus!" Beau and his cohorts had hurried to the front of the crowd in time to reach out and touch the old man's hand, which he had stuck out in greeting as he passed.

Everyone hurried toward the end of the route at the next street, hoping to make it in time to see Santa again as he finished his trip. Then came the Negro children, uncertain as to whether or not they should be in arm-touching contact with the white ones.

"Won't you join your friends?" Rhett moved to touch Wade's shoulder, then, sensing that the boy was discomfited for some reason that had nothing to do with any of the parade happenings.

"Wade Hampton Hamilton!" A woman's voice shouted. And Rhett Butler knew for sure that it was none other than the boy's mother, his wife.

Santa Claus, who was stepping off of the streetcar at that moment stopped short before smiling and waving. It was as though he believed that the woman's greeting was a friendly one, and addressed to him.

At Wade's horrified face, his stepfather whispered, "Don't worry, son. Hello, Mrs. Butler." He bowed politely as she weaved her way through the crowd.

"What the … Rhett, what are you … oh never mind." She refocused her gaze and ire upon Wade, whose face was ravaged with despair and disgrace. "Just what did you think _you_ were doing, young man?"

"I was on my way back, Mother," Wade said truthfully, wondering all the while if being caught standing with Uncle Rhett would count in his favor or against him, "I didn't do a single thing wrong."

Her mouth opened, then shut without any words escaping it. Never a good sign.

"Get back to the store, Wade Hampton. I'll deal with you later."

"Yes, ma'am." He sighed as he departed, his shoulders slumped as he miserably made his way back toward the store.

"I knew he'd come down here, I just knew it! And after I directly told him not to come…"

"Maybe so," Rhett interrupted her, "but what was the harm? He wanted to see the parade with the other boys. And Santa Claus. Normal experiences of childhood."

"Childhood? Fiddle-dee-dee. Wade Hampton is no longer a child if you haven't noticed. And Santa Claus?" Scarlett repeated the name as though she hadn't heard it right. "He's far too old to believe in fairy tales like that. Why even Ella …"

"You've fed this nonsense to Ella as well?"

"Nonsense? Why Rhett, it's common sense. Surely you see that it is…?" Her voice trailed off as she observed his darkening eyes. "Well, I don't want them to grow up thinking that all of their dreams will come true or any of that foolishness. I know too well the hurt in thinking _that _way."

She could see that she had wounded him with her last statement, so she paused a moment to savor her small victory.

"And they'll turn out better for it. Practical and sensible."

A slow smile spread across Rhett's face and Scarlett found herself smiling too. See, she congratulated herself, I don't always do everything wrong when it comes to managing my children.

"That _is_ an idea, Scarlett. It just hit me. I'm not sure why someone's not thought of it before. Why, the public would be clamoring to buy from any shop proprietor who was shrewd enough to market it …"

He had lost her, but the idea of moneymaking appealed to her business sensibilities.

"Whatever are you running on about?"

"Well, it might have escaped your notice, but as we've been standing here, the entire city is clamoring around that old man on that streetcar who smiled and waved and presented himself as the purveyor of all of their holiday necessities."

"What does that have to do with making money?"

"It would seem to be, Scarlett my dear, that if he could be prevailed upon to appear in a retail setting …"

"Don't be ridiculous, Rhett, surely you don't think that the children will tell him what they want and he'll tell their parents and then …" Immediately and without thinking, she said almost reverently, "…and then they'll _buy_ those things! Rhett!" she seized his arm. "You're a genius! Why hadn't I thought of that? But where is he? I must speak to him, immediately. Oh Rhett, how clever you are! Now then, I must speak to him."

With that, she took her leave, and Rhett Butler stood at alone at the station house, staring down at his pocket watch.

"Put money in thy purse," he uttered, appreciating the irony as he turned his heels to go on to his next destination: home.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thanks to all of you who have been nice enough to review. I appreciate each and every one of them and hope that you all continue to enjoy this little Christmas story. Thanks again! **

**Disclaimer: All recognizable characters, themes, and dialogue are the sole property of Margaret Mitchell's estate and no copyright infringement is intended. I just love Scarlett, Rhett, et al too much to leave them alone!**

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><p><strong>2.<strong>

Wade sighed as he shuffled his feet the distance to the store, noticing after he had walked the three blocks that the streetcar that Santa Claus had rode in was following him. At Mitchell Street, it made a right turn towards the garage where the other streetcars were kept, then disappeared from view.

Again he heaved a sigh. His mother had been right. None of it was real. He had been foolish to think for a second that it had been. But he felt within him a nagging disappointment, as though something was missing. But it wasn't that important, not in light of the punishment his mother would no doubt inflict upon him. He'd probably be sweeping floors until his birthday, at least. His stomach growled, reminding him that it must be nearing lunchtime.

He headed in the direction of home along the side streets, passing the backyards of his Aunt Pitty and Beau's father, his Uncle Ashley. As he rounded the corner of Peachtree Street, he could see Pork, Uncle Rhett's valet, unstrapping the luggage from the back of the familiar, waiting carriage and bringing it ... inside? Surely not! It would be too good to be true for Uncle Rhett to be home for Christmas after all.

"Hey, Pork!" The old man looked behind him and met the boy's eyes. "Hey Pork, do those belong to Uncle Rhett? Is he staying for Christmas then?"

His face opened wide in a smile. "How you been, Mist' Wade?"

"I'm good, Pork. But you've gotta tell me quick! Is Uncle Rhett here for Christmas?"

"Mighty pleased to here it, suh. An' like you done said, Mist' Rhett's here through Christmas. Ah's stayin' after, on 'count of mah Dilcey-"

"Really, you mean it, Pork?" he interrupted him.

"Yes suh."

"Is he inside now?"

"Yes suh. Sho' is."

"Thanks, Pork!"

A slow smile spread across Wade's face as he brushed past the old valet and inside the house.

"Uncle Rhett?" he called out.

"In here," the man's voice replied. "We're in the sitting room, Wade."

His heart stopped. Hopefully his mother wasn't home from the store already. He'd be lucky just to be sent to bed without supper.

Hesitantly, he peeked his head inside the door. Rhett was on his knees, his sister Ella sitting straight up on the carpeted floor delightedly playing with a new doll that she had clearly just freed from its packaging.

Ella was exactly eight years and two months old, although she could have easily passed for ten, a point of pride for her. In fact, acting grownup seemed to have become her enduring purpose in life, so Wade was pleasantly surprised to see her so pleased about a toy.

"Hello, Wade Hampton," she called out. "Look who's here!"

She giggled like she knew something he didn't.

"I can see, silly," Wade grinned broadly. "Hi Uncle Rhett. I didn't know you'd be _here_ too."

"Uncle Rhett, you didn't tell me you'd already seen Wade Hampton!" Ella pouted prettily.

He lifted her up in his arms and gave her a sloppy kiss on the cheek. "I was so overcome by how pretty you've gotten that I forgot to mention it."

"Uncle Rhett!" Ella giggled, kicking her legs straight into the air. "Put me down! Uncle Rhett!"

Wade thought that his stepfather looked enormously pleased. Maybe he hadn't been angry with them after all, or if he had been, maybe it had passed.

"I've got presents for you too, son. I'll let you have your choice whether you want to open one of them now or all on Christmas day."

"Christmas day," Wade said thoughtfully. "Unless … unless you won't be here on Christmas."

Rhett gave him a nod. "I'll be here. I was very sad not to have been here last year and I'm sorry for it."

Wade smiled up at him. It would be a better Christmas then; better than last year's, at least.

"Besides," Rhett returned his attention to Ella, "I shall need the week to tell you about the places I've been. London, Paris, Mexico for a time…"

"And where did my dolly come from, Uncle Rhett?" Ella asked.

"Ah yes. Isn't she grand? She was made special for my best girl, by private request of yours truly to the greatest toymaker in the world. You like her?"

"I like her very much. But Uncle Rhett, who is the greatest toymaker in the world? Does he live in London?" Ella clasped her hands tight, eager to gain a new piece of information.

"Why Miss Ella Kennedy, I am very surprised that you would need to ask!" Rhett mock-chided. "When I know full well that you've been well-versed in Christmastide literature … you both know where this doll came from and who made her … and if anyone tells you differently, and I mean _anyone_, I'll …"

His voice trailed off as Wade said his own silent prayer: Please, dear God, don't let Mother come in now. Amen.

"But Uncle Rhett?" Ella pulled on his jacket sleeve. "Santa Claus isn't real. Mother told us the secret."

"The secret, eh? And how did your mother find out this _secret_, I wonder?"

"She says that grownup folks know," Ella parroted her mother's words. "And that Aunt Melly only told us because a part of her never really grew up and that we were being awfully silly if we believed it. But we can't tell Beau, 'cause Uncle Ashley hasn't told him the secret yet."

Rhett rolled his eyes. "And what, my dear Ella, would it take to convince you that your mother is mistaken?"

Ella's voice softened, her tone a little less resolute. "Santa Claus isn't real, Uncle Rhett."

"And you, Wade Hampton?" Rhett eyed the boy, who stood stonily. "Do you share the same conviction as your mother and sister?"

"Yes sir," Wade mumbled.

"Speak up, son."

"Yes sir," Wade said, a little more clearly.

"I see. So you both really and truly believe that there is no such person as Santa Claus? My, my. Well, in that case, I suppose that there's nothing to do but to prove to you that such a person does exist."

"Uncle Rhett!" Ella let out a giggle. "You mean an old man who makes reindeer fly and delivers toys to all the boys and girls in the whole, wide world is _real_?"

"Do you have evidence to the contrary?"

"Ev-a-dence." Ella sounded out the word.

"Do you have evidence that there is?" Wade countered, fascinated by his stepfather's interest in the subject.

Rhett leaned his head back to laugh loudly. "So, my pair of cynics. If I can prove to you both that there is such a person as Santa Claus by the Christmas Day, you will accept that I am correct and your mother is not?"

Wade considered the proposal carefully, then exchanged a glance with his sister, who didn't look exactly thrilled with the prospect of admitting that their mother _could_ be wrong about anything. "Are you placing a bet with us, then, Uncle Rhett?"

On Rhett's face was the dawning of a smile. "A bet. I like the sound of that, son. And I _bet_ that I can change your minds. Both of you. But we should decide the terms of our agreement. If I'm wrong, then you both can select my punishment."

Ella grinned. "What shall we pick, Wade?"

Wade laughed. "I don't know."

"You have to kiss Mother!" Ella said with utter seriousness. "You have to kiss her, and tell her you love her. And call her a princess."

Rhett raised an eyebrow. "I might get slapped if I did that."

"That's alright with me," Wade took up his sister's laugh. "Not the slapping of course. Mother wouldn't really … slap you? Would she?"

Rhett shrugged. "There's no telling."

"Will you promise never to leave us again, Uncle Rhett?" Ella looked up at him expectantly.

"Now Ella, I've never left you for longer than a few months."

"But I don't want you to leave us at all. Ever."

Rhett looked out the window for a moment, then returned his attention to first Ella, then her brother. "Very well. If you remain unconvinced by Christmas Day, then I shall first declare my passionate love for the aforementioned _Princess_ Katherine Scarlett of Tara in the form of a worthy kiss, risking a most certain death. Sound fair?"

Both children exploded in laughter at that … but they would both of them have been agreeable to allowing the scene to unfold in actuality.

Wade, however, was shrewd enough to note that his Uncle Rhett had not addressed the second half of Ella's condition. Not wanting to spoil Rhett's good humor though, he remained quiet.

"Now then," Rhett cleared his throat. "I'm hungry for something sweet. It's Christmas, isn't it? Let's get Pork to call for the carriage for us and head to the confectionery."

Ella shook her head. "Mother says we aren't allowed sweets. Too much sugar rots our mouths and our minds, Uncle Ashley always says."

"Since when do you take orders from Uncle Ashley?" Rhett said, his voice losing some of its warmth. "Well, far be it for me to question his infinite wisdom. I suppose we can just take a walk down to the store then. See what's cooking."

"Mother might not be happy to see me," Wade said glumly. "I'd better stay here."

"Nonsense, Wade Hampton. She can't still be mad about the parade. Besides, I have an inkling that her mind is otherwise occupied with other things at the moment."

Ella nodded her agreement. "She's awful busy in the store, Uncle Rhett. She said that the … Wade, what's the word?"

"Economy?"

"That's right. The e-con-my's bad. So they've got to work extra hard this year."

Again he rolled his eyes and let out an 'Oh Scarlett!'. "Well, I think I'm beginning to see the light now and I do appreciate your verbose explanation, Little Miss Kennedy."

"What's ver-bose mean, Uncle Rhett?"

"Wordy," Wade answered her.

"I'm just teasing, Ella Lorena. Now go upstairs and grab your warmest jacket and muff so we can be on our way. And take off that old faded dress you're wearing and ask Prissy to get you in a nicer one."

"But I only have my velvet, Uncle Rhett. And Mother said …?"

"Well, I say that you're to wear it. You're far too pretty to be strolling in town in rags."

Wade didn't think his sister's calf-length day dress could be categorized as _rags_, but again, he held his tongue as she left the room and headed upstairs.

"You too, Wade Hampton. You're old enough now to wear a necktie. Go up and get one, and that Norfolk jacket I brought back for you this fall."

"Uncle Rhett, that's my good one. For church only…"

"Have pride in yourself, son! What do you want folks to say about you as you're walking down the street? Have pride in yourself and your appearance, boy. Believe me, you'll be the better for it."

Wade looked up into his stepfather's eyes.

"Mother says …"

"Wade Hampton," he said quietly. "Are you going to spend the rest of your life doing exactly as your mother says? Believing everything she tells you to be good as Gospel?"

Pride, Uncle Rhett had called it. Pride was what his mother had. What made her different and special. What made him know without a doubt that all the mean things the other boys said about her were all lies. His mother just had pride. And he admired her for it.

"Mother … I just … I don't want to make her work any harder than she does already," Wade said glumly. "And when I argue … I just make her have it worse."

Rhett shook his head No.

"You're almost a man, Wade Hampton. You're allowed to make up your own mind about certain things. Look at me. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"I guess so, Uncle Rhett."

"Good boy. Now go upstairs and put on your tie."


	3. Chapter 3

**I'm so happy that this story has been so well-received. It's been so much fun to write this weekend, and it's not finished! Your reviews have really spurred me on and I'm just having a blast writing. So, here we are with Chapter 3. There is a little bit of Miracle on 34****th ****Street action, but with GWTW flair, of course. I hope you guys enjoy it! It's such a pleasure to get feedback, so if you are so inclined, let me know what you think! **

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><p><strong>3.<strong>

Wade walked down the Main street rather gingerly. His good shoes had gotten more than a little tight in the last month or so, but he had kept quiet about the fact to his mother. Ella was holding onto Rhett's hand so as not to get separated in the crowd. The T-shaped business section of downtown Atlanta was chalk full of patrons doing their shopping on this, the last weekend before Christmas, as well as some of the stragglers left over from the parade. Most of the buildings had their doors open to enable easier access: the Western Union, the bank where Uncle Rhett had worked for a time, the post office, the market, and most importantly, his mother's store. They stopped briefly in the confectionary, as promised, but the smell of smoked hams and turkeys emitting from the market had taken command of Wade's senses. He was hungry, and for something more substantial than candy. Rhett and Ella emerged from the shop after what seemed to Wade an eternity, Ella with chocolate on her nose which Rhett wiped off with his index finger.

And there, stuck between the market and the post office was Kennedy's Emporium, the best store in Atlanta, if Wade did say so himself. He liked the new sign; his mother had only recently had it painted with big, bold red letters outlined in black for emphasis:

KENNEDY'S EMPORIUM

Quality Goods

Shoes, Clothing, Hardware, & Variety

Clearly, other people liked the sign too; Wade had never seen a line forming out the door before! They took their place at the end of the line, and Rhett commented to the man in front of them that Kennedy's must be having a heck of a sale.

The man was holding the hand of a small boy, younger than Ella, who answered for his father: "Santa Claus works for Kennedy's!"

"He does?" Rhett said, addressing the boy with gravity. "The real Santa Claus, you say?"

The boy's father rolled his eyes. "I couldn't pull him away at the parade. The Doc's wife, she did a number with hirin' her Santa. My goodness. Looks just like the picture in Harper's!"

"But what's the Santa from the parade doing at the store?" Wade piped up.

"Not sure," the other man said. "But we heard that he was doin' a meet and greet with the kids over at Kennedy's so we had to come. Looks like some of the other parents had the same idea. The wife's inside doing her Christmas shopping."

"See, Ella?" Rhett nudged her. "You can meet Santa too."

Ella smiled, feeling confident in her conviction that her knowledge was superior to the other little boy's.

"Alright, Uncle Rhett."

"You too, Wade Hampton." Rhett put an arm on his shoulder. "I'll have a word with your mother while you do."

"Rhett!"

Wade and Ella turned around at the same time to greet the voice's owner, none other than their Uncle Ashley.

"Hello children," he greeted them.

"Hello," they chorused together, remembering to smile.

Ashley shook Rhett's hand and said something about not having expected him.

"I had a change of plan," Rhett said.

"I'm looking for Beau," Ashley said, as if he had anticipated Rhett's next question. "He and some of the other boys headed straight down here from the parade."

"Yes." Rhett commented. "It seems to be the place to be."

Ashley smiled his adult-to-child smile at Wade. "How are you enjoying your school vacation? As much as Beau, I'm sure?"

Wade wondered how he could answer his uncle's question with honesty. First he'd have to decide exactly how much he was enjoying the winter holiday - not all that much before Uncle Rhett had showed up - then find out exactly how much Beau was enjoying it before making a comparison. Ashley's smile was fading slightly. Perhaps he should just say something cordial and hope he moved on to Ella. In truth, he never knew _what_ his Uncle Ashley expected him to say. If he hadn't known any better, he'd think that Ashley didn't like him, or Ella, for that matter. But Ashley _did_ like his mother, and he'd picked up the habit in recent months of hanging round their house and the store even when Beau was not present, which always disturbed Wade's sensibilities, loyal as he was to both Uncle Rhett and his deceased Aunt Melly.

"Yes sir," Wade answered.

"And Ella dear, how pretty you look."

"Thank you, Uncle Ashley." Ella hung onto Rhett's hand a little more tightly.

Wade thought his sister did look pretty indeed. Her hair had been curled and was topped by her new velvet bow, which indicated that she had asked Pansy, their mother's maid, to dress her instead of Prissy, who would never have been able to accomplish such a task.

"Have you seen Scarlett yet?" Ashley asked Rhett cordially.

"I have indeed," Rhett replied, his voice heavy with pleasantness that Wade was sure was contrived. "We watched the tail end of the parade together."

"I'm very glad to hear it," Ashley said. Wade didn't think he sounded all that glad. "Did you hear what happened with the Santa Claus? No? Well, Mrs. Meade had enlisted the service of a man from church. He looks the part, but terribly fond of the drink, I'm afraid. Anyway, he was far too gone to perform the task, and she was close to having a fit over it. Well, she and Mrs. Meriwether were looking everywhere for a replacement when out of nowhere, this one appeared."

"Really?" Rhett looked intrigued. "So they had no idea who they had recruited, eh? Is he local?"

Ashley shrugged. "I've never seen him in my life."

Rhett addressed Ella. "You ask him where he's from. If he says that he's from somewhere cold…"

"Uncle Rhett!" she giggled. "Fine, I will ask."

"If he says he's from somewhere tropical …" Wade winked.

Rhett grinned wickedly. "I have till Christmas."

"Until?" Ashley inquired politely as they finally made it through the door.

"Until I'm forced to address Mrs. Butler as _Princess_ Scarlett."

"And kiss her," Ella added.

"And confess my undying love for her, wasn't that right, Ella?"

Wade thought that he saw a blush form on Ashley's cheeks.

"Well then…" Ashley began, then trailed off as his attention, as well as Rhett's, was focused upon a figure familiar to all of them.

Standing at the piece-goods counter with Wade's mother was one of her clerks, hurrying to hand him the pair of shoes he had requested.

"And he wants to see the black ones too, Mrs. Butler. Apparently his boy asked your Santa Claus for some new ones for school and ole Santa told his Pa that the older son needed 'em too but was too proud to say!"

Scarlett looked triumphant. "Why that's fine, George, just fine! And you can tell him that he can buy himself a pair too and I'll knock a dollar of the price."

"Yes'm, Mrs. Butler!"

"Look Ella," Rhett pointed to the center of the store, where the line was wrapping around a cushioned chair in the toy section. They hadn't been deceived. Santa from the parade was speaking to a little girl perched on his lap, his whiskers as bushy and his green velvet and fur-trimmed suit as immaculate up close as it had been at the parade. Beau and his friends had clearly just been seen, and spotting them, Beau excused himself and made his way over to them.

"Hi there, Uncle Rhett!" Beau grinned. "Father, I told Santa Claus my list and he told me that I'd be sure to have it all on Christmas!"

Wade noticed that the flush that he thought he'd spotted before on Ashley's face had appeared again, this time unmistakably.

"What…er … What all did you ask Santa Claus for, Beau?" Ashley asked.

"Well, I had a long list," Beau grinned up at his father. "I asked for a magic lantern, a mechanical dog - the metal one that walks on its own - see it there, on the shelf? And I asked for a new set of tin soldiers and a kaleidoscope and a model train with passenger cars that comes with twenty-five feet of track!"

"Beau, that train you wanted costs fifteen dollars," Ashley said softly. "I can't seem to impress upon you the value of a dollar."

"But Father!" Beau protested. "You don't have to buy it for me. Santa Claus will."

Wade exchanged a glance with Rhett, who intervened by telling Beau that he had forgotten to get Queen Anne's cherries at the confectioners and handed him a quarter to fetch him some. "And a dollar for you," Rhett winked at the wide-eyed boy. "Buy yourself something too."

"Gee, thanks, Uncle Rhett!" Beau said before taking off like a shot.

Ashley murmured. "That was not helpful."

Rhett shrugged. "No need to bring him down here in front of everyone."

Ashley took his leave then, mumbling some excuse about being needed back at the mill.

The line continued to move on, and before too long, Wade and Ella were next and in a good position to see the conversation unfolding in front of them. On Santa's lap sat a small girl with flaxen hair and wide eyes.

"She's Dutch," the woman with her was explaining quickly. "My niece. She was orphaned just last month and she's only just arrived. My sister never taught her to speak English. But she just insisted that I bring her…"

"Of course, Madam," the man said, his voice resonant and cheerful. He grinned at the child, who exclaimed delightedly: "Sinterklauss!"

The two then began conversing in rapid Dutch, which seemed to bring tears to the eyes of the girl's aunt, who gratefully clasped the man's hand after the small girl had finished.

"Thank you, thank you so very much!" she said.

"You are very welcome. Goodbye, Kirsten!"

The little girl turned around and waved before chattering excitedly in her own tongue to her aunt as they walked past Wade and Ella.

"Did she tell him her name?" Ella whispered up to Wade.

He shrugged. "I don't speak Dutch, so I'm not sure."

Rhett gave Ella an encouraging push and she walked uncertainly towards the old man seated in the big, cushiony chair.

"Hello," she said, taking a step forward.

"Hello!" Santa Claus said cheerfully, then smiling back at Wade and Rhett, who were waiting in the wings. "And what is your name, my dear?"

"Ella Lorena Kennedy." Ella held out her hand for him to shake. "How do you do?"

"Very well, my dear. That certainly is a pretty name. It suits such a pretty little girl."

"What's your name, please sir?"

He looked bemused, and his blue eyes seemed to sparkle. "Why, I have many names, my dear Ella. Most children simply call me Santa Claus."

"Yes, but," she bent down closer to his ear so as not to inadvertently spoil the secret for any of the other children who might be listening. "…but what's your _real_ name?"

"Ah, I see. You don't believe in me, do you? Well, Ella, you may call me Kris. Kris Kringle."

"It's very nice to meet you, Mister Kringle," Ella shook his white gloved hand. "You have a very lovely suit."

"Why thank you, Ella. It is very old. Almost as old as I am!"

"Hmm," she looked hard at the fabric. "My mother has a dress that looks something like this. It came from curtains."

"Really? How extraordinary. Your mother must be very resourceful indeed."

"Very much."

"And that gentleman there, is your father?"

"That's Uncle Rhett. And my brother, Wade Hampton."

"Ah, I see. Well, then, my dear Ella. What would you like me to bring you for Christmas?"

"Oh, you don't have to bring me anything."

"Nothing? Why, there must be something, surely! You strike me as a young lady with a particular fondness for pretty dolls …"

Ella grinned. "Why yes! I love dolls. But my Uncle Rhett already got me a doll and Mother won't … oh … hello, Mother."

Scarlett said quietly. "What are you doing here?"

Mr. Kringle smiled up at Ella's mother. "This lovely young lady is your daughter, Mrs. Butler?"

Her head moved slightly. "Ella, I think you've taken up enough of this gentleman's time. Other children have been waiting quite some time."

"Yes, Mother. Goodbye Mr. Kringle."

"Goodbye, Ella dear! And a Merry Christmas to you!"

"Merry Christmas to you too, sir!"

Wade took one last look at Mr. Kringle before focusing all of his attention on his mother. Hers wasn't an everyday pretty face, but it shone with intelligence and shrewdness and now, anger. She took Ella by the hand and walked her away from the toy section. Wade followed wordlessly, wondering if she would holler at either him or Ella or at Uncle Rhett, and if Uncle Rhett would get fed up and leave for months at a time again and miss his birthday. That had happened before, on one of Uncle Rhett's other visits.

She marched them to the corner of the store that was half hidden behind the Christmas display of cut glass; finally, after a period of quiet, private words to Ella, she rounded on her heels to face Rhett, who, Wade observed, was smartly silent.

"I can explain," he started to say.

She acted as though she hadn't heard him. "Why did you bring them down here? Why?"

"Because I wanted to spend some time with them. How better than a walk around town on a nice day?"

"And you just thought you'd stop in here?"

"I thought I'd take them to see Santa Claus, yes."

"He's a very nice man, Mother," Ella offered hesitantly.

"Yes, Ella." Scarlett tightened her lips. "Wade Hampton, would you take your sister outside, please? I need to talk to Uncle Rhett alone."

"Yes Mother," Wade said quietly, taking Ella's hand and leading her away, feeling a sense of dread build up in his stomach. He just hoped that Uncle Rhett would say goodbye to him before he left this time.

"So tell me, Scarlett, are you more displeased that I brought the children to see Santa Claus or that I have returned to Atlanta at all?"

Her eyes shot open.

At least he had her attention. "Well, what do you say, my dear? You've done quite a number on them since I was here this summer."

"Children grow up," she snapped. "It's unfortunate you missed it."

"Touché, my dear," he lifted his eyebrows in surprise.

"And since when do you care about silly things like Santa Claus, Rhett?"

"I care that you're raising them to be as cold and unfeeling as-"

"As what? Me? I suppose you think that I'm being terribly unfair and that you can just waltz in here and tell me how to raise my children as though you've never been gone!"

"I have been gone, I'll concede that. But I've kept my end of the bargain, Scarlett. I've returned enough to keep the gossip at bay. Not as much as I might have liked, but it is what it is. But so long as I am here, Mrs. Butler, I would like to have an enjoyable visit with them."

"Visit all you like. But try not to make them believe that you'll stay forever. I've only now gotten them used to the fact that you're not going to fall out of the sky every time one of them misses you!"

"They miss me often?"

"They wondered what happened. And I tried to explain it in such a way that the truth wouldn't end up all over town."

"You didn't answer my question."

"Yes, Rhett. They miss you. As though I'm the evil queen and you're the good prince who pops in to rescue them from time to time. Just look at today! I tell them the truth, and you offer them something completely different. What are they supposed to think? Who are they supposed to believe?"

"Scarlett," Rhett let out a wry chuckle. "Scarlett. I understand that you're displeased, but you're overreacting in this. There's no harm in taking the children to see a friendly old man who symbolizes all that is good about this time of year."

"What's so grand about it?" Scarlett muttered. "Besides knowing that it's going to be another year less than a week after the busiest of the year, and in so little time it's just … gone."

"Scarlett …?" he touched her arm.

"Rhett, please. Just understand that I'm not keen on them getting their hopes up by being surrounded by hundreds of gullible children and pouring their hearts out to a very convincing actor! And agree with me or not, they are my children, my responsibility, and I will raise them how I see fit!"

He raised an eyebrow. "But surely my idea has brought you some business? After all, these _hundreds_ of children must have at least a parent each, eh?"

"Well, I admit, it has helped. I do declare I was surprised to see such a turnout. I might have to invite him back for the rest of the week. I daresay he could greet every child in Atlanta by then … Oh, I bet you're wanting a portion of the profits, aren't you, you skunk?"

He laughed. "No Scarlett, I have more than enough to hold me over quite comfortably, profits from your store aside."

As Scarlett was about to open her mouth in retort, Mrs. Dolly Meriwether walked toward her looking as though she was on an important mission.

"Scarlett!" The older woman halted a step away. "Good afternoon Scarlett. And good afternoon to you as well, Captain Butler. Scarlett, I have something to say to you."

Scarlett smiled. "What can I do for you today, Mrs. Meriwether?"

"It's about your Santa Claus!" said Mrs. Meriwether.

"_My_ Santa Clause?" Scarlett answered as though she wasn't completely sure to whom she was referring. "Well he's not exactly mine-"

"Yes, your Santa Claus! I took my little grandsons Raoul and Napoleon to speak with him. My daughter was with me, she witnessed the whole exchange."

Scarlett flashed Rhett a dirty look before addressing Mrs. Meriwether. "Well, what's he done?"

"Well, let me tell you, Scarlett. Little Napoleon had his heart set on this certain toy soldier. Maybelle had looked everywhere. _I _had looked everywhere. We couldn't find it. Well, that Santa Claus of yours directed us to those Jewish folk's shop across 2nd Street, you know the one …? Well, the price was exorbitant but Maybelle has it in her hands now. And the last one, too. I just wanted to come over here myself and tell you how nice it was that your Santa Claus didn't try to sell us some second-rate toy like you sell here."

Scarlett looked as if she didn't know whether to be happy or insulted.

"Well, I must say Scarlett, I've never done much shopping here before, but now I intend on becoming a regular customer."

"Really?" Scarlett looked confused.

"Indeed. And I shall be saying something about it at the church social tomorrow. Any store that puts the spirit of Christmas ahead of the profit is worthy of our patronage."

Rhett answered for Scarlett, who was shaking her head wordlessly. "Scarlett is very grateful for your support, Mrs. Meriwether."

She nodded. "I hope to see you both there tomorrow, Captain Butler. The children as well. And perhaps we should invite Santa Claus as well. Good afternoon."

"Mrs. Butler! Mrs. Butler!" One of the clerks appeared behind them as soon as Mrs. Meriwether rejoined her daughter and grandsons. "There's six different women askin' for you. Want to say thank you."

"I'm … I better see to that," she said softly, looking up at her smirking husband.

"Alright. I'll take the children back home."

"Make sure that Prissy fixes them something proper to eat. Yesterday I wasn't home until eight and they hadn't eaten a thing and were too silly to ask."

"Is that all?"

"Yes, that's all."

He bowed politely and turned to go.

"Rhett!" she called out suddenly, and he again turned to face her. "Thank you."

A wrinkle of genuine interest came between his neat black eyebrows. "You're very welcome."


	4. Chapter 4

**Hi guys! Brette here, with Chapter 4. I read some of it out loud to my cousins, ten and twelve, respectively, and got a positive response; plus you guys have been just fabulous with your comments! I will do everything possible to have this completed by Christmas. Comments give me a little "rush" … THANKS so much! **

*** There is some 'dialogue-lifting' from Miracle on 34****th**** Street intermixed in this Chapter, simply because the screenwriters of the 1947 film said things better than I possibly could - I still am aiming to tell a completely different story, as it relates to our heroes ***

**4.**

It was ten o'clock Sunday morning when Wade's mother came down to the breakfast table and asked, just as nice as you please, if he and Ella were ready to go to the social over at the Episcopal Church.

Ella glanced over at Rhett, who was seated at the head of the table, and asked, "Are you coming too, Uncle Rhett?"

Wade thought he observed a glance exchanged between his mother and Uncle Rhett, who said after a minute, "Sure." Just like he didn't mind at all.

Wade had it on good authority that he did mind, although he had never understood why exactly Uncle Rhett disliked social events in town so much. He thought the problem might have started when Bonnie died, and Uncle Rhett didn't really want to be around anyone, including him. Aunt Melly had died next, and Uncle Rhett had left, first for a month, then back for a week, then gone another three months, back one, then gone six. He had made his appearance as much as was needed, he had said once to Wade. Sometimes he had taken him and Ella for ice cream, and once to Savannah for the weekend. His mother hadn't come with them on that trip. It had been the highlight of Wade's summer, spending lazy hours with his Uncle Rhett on his sailboat, discussing important things that were happening in the world, things that Ella and Beau didn't understand and his mother didn't have the time to worry about. But Uncle Rhett never talked about Bonnie. His mother never did, either. And Wade had a hunch that the fact that they did not may have started the problems between them in the first place. Now, although Uncle Rhett never missed the really important social events in Atlanta, Wade figured that he probably resented them all the same. Because the last time they had all been out together, Uncle Rhett had left early and had gone to stay with his lady friend, a woman whose name was unmentionable in their house … or in polite company, his mother said.

But he was back, Wade reassured himself. Maybe it was as his mother had said, to keep up an appearance, or maybe, as Wade believed in his own heart, Uncle Rhett really and truly missed them and was tired of living on his own without them. But that didn't make sense. After all, Uncle Rhett wouldn't _really_ stay. He had avoided the issue entirely since he had arrived. And Wade didn't want to push his luck by asking. He'd been given a week; he'd not be selfish and ask for more.

"Make sure you lock the door, Pork," his mother ordered the valet as he handed them up into the carriage. The old man nodded his head in understanding, and Wade noticed for the first time that the servants had all gathered in the drive, presumably heading off to a church service of their own. He'd never noticed before; he'd just assumed that they were Catholics, as he was. But it had been so long since they had been to Mass, he hardly recalled what it had felt like.

At St. Philip's, the Episcopal Church where Beau and Uncle Ashley attended, Wade touched his mother's shoulder and pointed toward the entrance to the churchyard and cemetery as their carriage pulled to a stop.

"Aunt Melly said that all the Hamilton's were buried there before her Papa bought plots for his family at Oakwood."

"Wade Hampton," his mother snapped, "don't tell me anything else today about what Aunt Melly said."

"Is Beau coming?" Ella piped up from her seat next to Rhett, who had remained silent throughout the short carriage ride.

"I suppose so," Scarlett replied. "I didn't have a chance to speak to your Uncle Ashley yesterday, so I'm not sure …"

Wade thought that Uncle Rhett's jaw seemed to harden.

"Well, I asked Mr. Kringle to start back on Monday," she quickly changed the subject. "The toys are simply flying off of the shelves, so I had the clerks move them all up front."

"Really?" Rhett said, as though the matter was one of supreme indifference to him. "Not that you're seeking my advice, Scarlett, but toys are hardly impulse items."

"What are you talking about?"

"What I mean is that people are coming in specifically to buy a certain toy for their child. Why not use the front space for something like … oh I don't know … how about hats? You know that a woman sees a pretty new bonnet and she just ups and buys it spur of the moment."

"Oh fiddle-dee-dee. In this economy? No one's buying bonnets these days."

Wade recognized a flicker of emotion in Rhett's eyes, something akin to hurt. Perhaps his mother was supposed to pick up on a deeper meaning to something he'd said? Whatever it was, Uncle Rhett was stone silent the rest of the ride.

"I've been meaning to tell you both, children, if Uncle Henry or Aunt Pitty ask you what you want for Christmas, you're to tell them nothing, you understand?"

"But why, Mother?" Ella asked, a stunned look on her face. Aunt Pitty always bought her something pretty to wear for Christmas.

She didn't answer immediately, but glared at Rhett as if he was responsible for her bad humor. "Because you don't need anything else. Aunt Pitty can barely afford to feed herself and shouldn't be bothered with buying the two of you presents. And the only thing Uncle Henry ever gets for you is money, and you certainly don't need that."

"Yes, Mother," they answered together.

After a brief period of quiet, Rhett said calmly, "But suppose that Miss Pittypat likes to buy them Christmas presents? Suppose it gives her joy?"

"She buys them because she feels that she has to. And it's gone on for far too long. Wade's too old to play with toys and he certainly doesn't need clothes and Ella, well she and Pitty aren't even blood kin!"

"Miss Pitty loved Frank," Rhett said softly.

Wade could feel the air go out of the carriage. No one dared say anything, especially Ella. Neither of them had ever known their fathers, his having died before he was even born and hers when she was just a baby. But he had had Aunt Melly and Uncle Ashley and Uncle Henry and Aunt Pittypat and Uncle Peter to tell him what sort of man his father been. They'd described his heroism and love for his mother with such extensive and glorious detail, he had always felt as if he had known Charles Hamilton. Ella had enjoyed no such luxury. Their mother's marriage to Mr. Kennedy, Ella's father, had been so brief and so blurred within Wade's mind that he could scarcely recall it. He knew that his mother hadn't been happy then, and he remembered vaguely the night that Mr. Kennedy was killed. But no one told him what happened, nor did he want to know.

Luckily, the carriage had come to a halt at the steps in front of the church, a vast, welcoming building painted the whitest white, with stained glass windows that glittered in the winter sunlight. It was a pretty church, Wade thought. It would have been nice to have grown up attending here. As it was, he had only been a handful of times, and only then with either Aunt Melly and Uncle Ashley. Once he had gone with Uncle Rhett, but only once and he had been very small at the time.

Before they reached the steps, they were greeted at the door by Doctor and Mrs. Meade, the rector, and Aunt Pitty herself. She turned to shout over her shoulder in her high-pitched shrill, "Mrs. Meriwether! Maybelle! They're here! Scarlett and Captain Butler."

"We can see that, Miss Pittypat," Doctor Meade chortled.

Henry Hamilton was present too, looking as potbellied and gruff as he had the last time Wade had seen him, but clean-shaven.

"Wade Hampton - you've grown since I saw you last. Look at you! Already a young man," he said, shaking Wade's hand.

Aunt Pitty hugged and kissed him and Ella, then allowed Rhett to kiss her hand before fluttering off in the opposite direction as her brother Henry, whom she never had managed to get along with, even after the multitude of tragedies within their family over the years which, conceivably, should have rendered the two siblings closer.

Wade and Ella stuck together as they extricated themselves from the receiving line, and Wade whispered quietly to his sister, "Are you alright?"

She shook her head. "Mother doesn't … Mother doesn't mean to do it … No she doesn't…"

"What do you mean?"

"S-s-she's mad at Uncle Rhett. For taking us to see Santa Claus. She told me last night that she's always been completely honest with you and I and that she's not been the best but that s-s-she loves us and just wants to tell us the truth."

"Ella-"

"I'm not gonna cry. I'm not gonna. Not here."

"Ella-"

"I don't want Uncle Rhett to go. I know he has to, but I don't want him to go away. If Bonnie was still here he wouldn't go. I want him to love us like he loved Bonnie."

"He does love us, Ella."

She looked at her brother sadly. "But not enough. Not enough to stay."

Wade glanced over at their mother and Uncle Rhett, who were standing next to each other but each speaking to a different person, Rhett to his Uncle Henry and his mother to two women he didn't recognize right away. He heard Aunt Pitty's voice again and knew immediately that it had to be Uncle Ashley and Beau. Beau ran in first, then immediately joined his circle of friends at the dessert table, although Wade and Ella had very clearly heard Mrs. Meriwether bellow that they were not to touch the desserts until everyone had been served the hot food first. There were four long tables set up in the reception hall of the church, each covered in fine damask cloth and set with good flatware. The adults' places had been designated by crystal glasses.

Wade was about to suggest that they say hello to Beau when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned around quickly, and was quite surprised when Ella exclaimed in a pleased voice: "Mr. Kringle!"

Looking smart in a tweed jacket and freshly pressed trousers, the old gentleman's smile seemed to stretch the distance of his round face.

"Hello there, Ella!" the elder said jovially, "Good to see you again. And your brother as well."

"It's nice to see you too." Ella returned his kindly smile.

"And how are you, young man? I was sorry that I wasn't able to say hello to you yesterday at the store."

"I'm very well, thank you," Wade replied.

In a flash, his mother had appeared behind them, and put her arm around Ella. "Hello there, Mr. Kringle. I'm very glad you were able to come this afternoon."

"Indeed, Mrs. Butler. I was very touched by the note that Mrs. Meade sent over this morning, and I was only too happy to accept."

"And do you live … far away, sir?" Ella inquired, exchanging a glance with Rhett, who took his place next to Wade.

"Not at all, my dear Ella. Just over the hill, at the rest home run by the good nuns."

"Ah, by Immaculate Conception. Just round the corner," Scarlett said triumphantly.

Wade turned his head to see what his Uncle Rhett thought of that. But he seemed to be too absorbed in watching Wade's mother to hear. As for his mother, she was only interested in one thing: proving her point.

"Well as long as you're here, Mr. Kringle, perhaps you can straighten something out for us."

"I'd be glad to, Mrs. Butler. How might I be of assistance?"

"Would you please tell Ella here that you're not _really_ Santa Claus? And that there actually is no such person …?"

"Well, I'm very sorry to disagree with you, Mrs. Butler. Not only is there such a person, but here I am to prove it."

Scarlett's brows wrinkled. "No, no. Perhaps I didn't make myself clear. I want you to tell her the truth."

"Well, I recognize the intelligence of both your children, Mrs. Butler. Why, both of them are just radiating it. You must be very proud of them."

Wade wondered if his mother had heard Mr. Kringle at all, and he almost came right out and asked her. But she was steaming, and he could see it.

"I bet that you're around eight years old, Ella, am I right?" Mr. Kringle inquired.

"Eight years and two months."

"A splendid age. And you, my boy?"

Wade answered. "Twelve."

"But he'll be thirteen the third of February," Ella reminded him.

"Mr. Kringle," Scarlett interrupted sharply. "There is no need to pretend around my children. They are certainly old enough to recognize the truth for what it is and I'd like them to hear it from you."

"Mrs. Butler, I always tell the absolute truth. In all things."

Her mouth formed a thin line. Wade was holding his breath, waiting for his mother to let the poor old gentleman have it.

From deep within his throat Rhett chuckled.

"Thank you, Mr. Kringle. You've been most helpful."

"My pleasure, sir. Your pardon, please, I don't think we've been properly introduced."

"Rhett Butler," Rhett extended his hand and shook the elder's. "The pleasure is all mine."

"If you'll excuse me, Mr. Kringle," Scarlett muttered, grabbing Ella's hand and pulling her along as she headed in the direction of Ashley, who Wade saw had been observing the unfolding scene with interest. "Come Wade Hampton - you haven't even said hello to Beau yet."

Wade wondered if this was one of those moments that Uncle Rhett had meant for him to say No to his mother. But Rhett just looked at him and nodded his head as if he knew what to do about it. "Goodbye, Mr. Kringle."

"Goodbye, Wade and Ella. It was very nice to see you both again. Goodbye, Mrs. Butler!"

Rhett let out another chuckle as Scarlett marched over to Ashley and began conversing with him and Dr. Meade. "Nonbelievers. By all means, keep trying. Unfortunately sir, I believe your attempts are going to fall on deaf ears."

"I _will _keep trying!" Mr. Kringle said emphatically. "At least you believe, Mr. Butler. That gives me reason to hope, at least."

"I believe that children should be children, Mr. Kringle. And Scarlett seems bound and determined that they should have it all over and done with. Some of that's my fault I suppose …"

The man's eyes were clouded with concern. "Something is … amiss … between you and Mrs. Butler, am I right, sir?"

Rhett half-smiled. "That's a nice way to put it."

"Forgive my intrusion, sir, but I get the distinct impression that both children are missing something very much … or someone."

"Yes. I'm not always able to be with them, unfortunately."

"I gathered as much. And you must miss them, surely?"

"Of course. I've known both of them since they were infants, held them in my arms when they …"

"But you and Mrs. Butler have no children?"

A deep crease appeared on the side of Rhett's mouth. "One daughter. She's …she was… She's gone."

"I'm very sorry."

"It's not your concern."

"Oh but it is, Mr. Butler. I appreciate grief very much. I feel it very keenly myself."

"I very much doubt you could understand, sir. Unless you yourself have lost a child."

"I've lost many children."

"Ah."

"I lose them each and every year, Mr. Butler. I'm very concerned about Christmas, you see. And it seems to be getting worse and worse each year. The retailers are so busy trying to best the other fellow, make things go faster, look shinier, cost less. And as for me …Christmas and I are lost in the shuffle. I fear that some day in the not so distant future, I might be just another selling point."

Rhett clasped his hands behind his back and cleared his throat. "No need to worry about that. Christmas will still be Christmas, after all."

"Not at all, Mr. Butler. Christmas isn't just a day, you know. It's much more than that. It's a frame of mind …and that's just what's changing. That's why I'm so very glad that I'm here. Perhaps I can do something about it. And now that I've met you and your family, sir, perhaps I can do something that will help you."

Rhett's head fell back as he laughed hollowly. "There's no helping me, sir. Just help the children. I'd be content with that."

"Well sir, without convincing their mother, there is no possible way to convince either child. Both of them want very much to believe in me, I can tell. But they value the good opinion of their mother far more."

"They love her," Rhett said, shaking his head.

"And you, sir?"

"Pardon me?"

"You share that love. For their mother, I mean."

Rhett's chin lifted as though it had been struck by an uppercut. "Not for some time now. That's all finished."

Mr. Kringle turned his gaze from Rhett to the raven-haired lady standing across the room. "Yes, yes. I'm very glad I'm here indeed. Your family is a most excellent test case for me."

"Are we?"

"Indeed. And I hope very much that I can help your stepchildren. Perhaps I can even help you and your wife as well …?" At Rhett's lack of response, the elder continued. "If I can win you all over, there might be some hope for me."

Rhett sighed. "And if not?"

"Well then, I suppose I'm finished, then. But sir, I warn you - I do not give up easily."

"I wish you the best of luck, sir," said Rhett, "But I have a sneaking suspicion that I'll be addressing my wife by a royal title come Christmas morning."

Mr. Kringle let out a warm laugh at that. "Well, at least that counts for something, Mr. Butler. And now I know what you want for Christmas, that's good."

Rhett shook his head in bemusement. "A very good afternoon to you, sir."

"And you, Mr. Butler. Will you not stay for the rest of the social?"

"No. I promised my daughter that I would go to visit her and I've not done so."

At that moment of absolute quiet between them, Mr. Kringle whispered, "I will pray for you, sir. For your peace. Good afternoon."

Across the room, Scarlett was deep in conversation with both Ashley and Dr. Meade, carefully out of earshot of Beau, who had prevailed upon Wade and Ella to join him and his group of friends.

"I just don't agree with you, Scarlett," Dr. Meade was saying, "…folks are institutionalized because they are a danger to themselves or others. Now I know that this man is _unusual_, but there doesn't seem to be anything remotely dangerous about him!"

"That's what I feel too, Scarlett, really," Ashley agreed. "Listen to me, my dear - he sought me out on the street and had drawn up a list of different, less expensive toy trains for me that Beau would like just as well as the one in your store."

"So he's driving my business down, too?"

"That's nonsense, Scarlett, and you know it!" Dr. Meade interrupted gruffly. "Your store's never been so busy. And the man's trying to be friendly and helpful. It's a welcome change."

"That's what I feel too," Ashley added.

"But he's crazy, Doctor!"

"He's not dangerous, Scarlett. So please don't spoil the day for the rest of us by suggesting otherwise."

"Well excuse me for being concerned. He _is_ in my store, so if he does anything wrong it'll come back on me!"

"Well, Scarlett, it seems that you could monitor his behavior better if you kept an eye on him."

"What are you saying?"

"Could he stay with one of the employees, perhaps? That way he avoids walking back to the home after dark. You'd get to see for yourself his behavior and keep an eye on him, too."

"He's certainly not staying with me!"

"That would solve everything," Ashley agreed. "Steer him away from any trouble. Now let's see … Who could rent him a room?"

"You." Scarlett said simply.

"Well, I certainly don't mind. He could stay in India's old room. It's alright, Scarlett. Everything's going to be just fine."

She breathed in deep. "I hope so, Ashley. I sure do hope so."


	5. Chapter 5

**Hi guys! Brette here again, with Chapter 5. I have a feeling that Rhett is going to be even more unpopular after this chapter, but don't fear too much - this IS a Christmas story! Good things are yet to come!**

**Enjoy! Let me know what you think - **

*** Repeat Disclaimer: Themes/dialogue/characters, etc… are all the property of their respective copyright holders. I'm just borrowing them. ***

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><p><strong>5.<strong>

"Mist' Wade, you know anything 'bout this? Found it lying in the middle of the counter," George, one of the store clerks, said.

Wade felt his heart thudding in his chest as George held his canvas bag aloft.

"I left it there. Oh boy, thanks, George. I owe you. That's the change from the bank from this morning."

"Don't you know any better'n to leave money lying around, boy?"

Wade blushed furiously. "Oh please don't mention it to Mother, please. I reckon I must have forgotten it."

George shook his mop of brown curls. "I won't. But be careful, you hear?"

Taking the bag in his hand, he found his mother in the front of the store with Mr. Kringle, who was again donning his holiday attire that he had worn at the parade.

"Hello, Mr. Kringle," Wade said politely before lifting the bag of change to eye level. "Mother, here's your change from the bank."

"Go and put it in the cash register, Wade Hampton. And what kept you?"

He didn't know if he should say what had kept him at the bank. As far as he could tell, she and Uncle Rhett were barely on speaking terms as it was, and he didn't want to make it any worse.

Mr. Kringle relieved him from answering right away by addressing him first. "Hello there, Wade. And how are you on this fine Monday afternoon?"

"Very fine, sir," he answered. "And Mother, I was late coming back from the bank because I stopped to talk to Frank Bonnell. He was in the bank too."

He hoped against hope that the Bonnell's hadn't already been to the store, or at the least, they hadn't been while he was away.

"I didn't know," his mother said, "that you and Frank Bonnell were friends."

He blushed again, knowing full well that she had caught him in a lie. Perhaps Mr. Kringle did too, for he again intervened. "Mrs. Butler, forgive me, but I do believe that the lady there in the green dress has been standing at the counter unassisted for the past several minutes at least …"

Wade's mother glanced at him, then back at the customer he mentioned. She did look rather agitated. "I suppose you're right," she muttered, then brushed past Wade and floated toward the counter and the lady who awaited her there.

"Thanks," Wade whispered as soon as his mother was out of earshot.

"You're very welcome, my dear Wade. Let me guess, you were with your Uncle Rhett and were delayed …?"

"Yes sir," Wade said, feeling the sting of his lie to his mother mightily.

"Well, there certainly is no shame in desiring the company of one's stepfather …"

Wade shook his head. "Mother doesn't like it. Not that I don't see her side. After all, he _did _leave us." He assumed that Mr. Kringle probably had not been privy to that information and in all honesty, should not have been; however, something within him compelled him to supply him with the particulars. "Last September, Uncle Rhett left. And he didn't come back for awhile, and when he does come back, it's only for a little while. But I only have five days or so left with him, and I want to make them count."

"Now then, Wade, mothers expect sons to admire their father, or in your case, your stepfather. That's only natural. But I don't believe that you should outright lie to her."

"She wouldn't understand. She would think that I took his side. And I haven't!" he said emphatically.

Mr. Kringle shook his head. "I understand."

"Uncle Rhett's going to go the day after Christmas and I'll be the man of the house again."

"I should think that you're already the man of the house, young Wade. I'm sure that your mother is very, very grateful to you."

Wade was about to respond when out of the corner of his eyes, he noticed a familiar carriage pull up and angle-park in front of the store. He recognized it immediately.

"Uncle Rhett," he murmured.

And out he came with a pleasant enough expression on his face. Didn't he know that his mother was there? That he was at this moment entering her store _again_?

"Something I can do for you, Mist' Butler?" Wade watched as George the clerk approached his stepfather.

"Yes sir, George. I was hoping to have a word with my wife, if she's not otherwise occupied with pressing matters of business."

George pointed to the back of the store at the stationary counter, where Wade's mother had been occupied for several minutes.

"It's fine, fine," Wade heard Rhett say to the clerk. "No need to hurry her on my account. I'll just have a word with Wade Hampton here."

"Yessuh," George said, then hurried off to assist other patrons.

"Mr. Kringle," Rhett extended his hand to the elder. "Good to see you again."

"And a very good morning to you as well, Mr. Butler."

"I'm sorry!" Wade heard his mother's voice traveling as she approached. "Mr. Kringle, do forgive me, I had to see to that. And the man from the Journal-Constitution is here to take your photograph for the paper." Wade noticed that Rhett's eyes, sought communication with his mother, who for her part, remained impassive.

"I must confess, Mrs. Butler," Mr. Kringle smiled. "I find it a bit overwhelming that they are making such a fuss over me."

"Well," Scarlett smiled sweetly, "…it _is_ Christmas. And you _are_ Santa Claus, right?" Wade checked his mother's face to see if she was making a joke at Mr. Kringle's expense. But her face was devoid of any expression.

If Kringle was offended by her remark in the slightest, he did not show it. "To many, Mrs. Butler. But to many more, I'm simply an old man with a white beard."

Scarlett cleared her throat and turned toward Rhett, finally acknowledging him. "I need to show Mr. Kringle to the reporter. He's waiting out front. It might take a few minutes if you have somewhere else to be … Wade Hampton, can't you find something useful to do?"

Rhett shook his head. "I'll wait."

Voices called for Wade's mother, and she took Mr. Kringle by the arm and guided him through the crowd. And Rhett headed toward the door. Wade wanted to cry out No to his mother before Rhett disappeared. He could be gone before she ever had finished with the reporter. Terrified that his stepfather's blasé behavior was only a temporary cover for an impending argument of epic proportions, Wade closed his eyes and prayed that they'd just make it to Christmas.

Pushed on by his own anxiety, he found himself trailing behind his mother, close enough that he could hear her and Mr. Kringle's conversation.

"You think I'm a fraud, don't you?" the elder was saying.

"Why, Mr. Kringle! That's downright nasty the way you said that."

"But just the same, Mrs. Butler, you don't believe in me."

"Believe in you? Fiddle-dee-dee. Do I look like a child to you, Mr. Kringle?"

"Certainly not, Mrs. Butler. However, your children don't believe in me either."

"And you believe that's a bad thing, I suppose? Forgive my frankness, Mr. Kringle, but I believe that it's much kinder to deal in reality, do you understand? Dreams are all well and good but they are only that. And nothing else. Surely you can understand that, too? So why should I teach Wade Hampton and Ella to believe in something that isn't true, only for them to find out for themselves and be terribly disappointed …"

"Is that what happened to you, Mrs. Butler?"

"That's not an appropriate question, sir."

"Mrs. Butler, I understand that you have suffered a great deal in the past year. Your husband's absence combined with the loss of your daughter and sister-in-law … those are not easy burdens for anyone, Madam."

"Really?" Wade thought that his mother's eyes seemed to have come from the sockets of some wildcat from the jungle. "You think so? Well, no one else does. But I do the very best that I can. That's all I am able to do."

"And I admire you for that, Mrs. Butler. I truly do. Indeed, I like you very, very much. You're a very fine lady. But here is the truth, the unequivocal truth. There is much more to me than a whimsical figure clad in the robe of Father Christmas and affecting a jolly demeanor. Oh no, Mrs. Butler. I'm a symbol. I'm a symbol of the human ability that we, all of us, share, that enables us to suppress the selfish and hateful tendencies that rule a major portion of our lives."

His mother's face registered the kind of flat openness that comes from not having the slightest idea what to expect next.

Kringle ran his fingers through his hair and patted it into place. "I'd better not take up any more of your time, Mrs. Butler. Your husband has been waiting for some minutes now."

"I'm sure that whatever he has to say can be said just as easily in another five minutes or so."

Kringle looked up at her and smiled. "You seem quite certain of his intentions, Mrs. Butler."

"I have a good idea of his intentions, Mr. Kringle; more so than you, if I do say so myself."

"And if they have changed? His intentions, I mean?"

"You must not know my husband at all. The man is incapable of change, Mr. Kringle."

"You must have faith, Mrs. Butler! In something, even if it isn't in me -"

She drew in a long breath. "I did have faith in something, once. Him. And I was terribly, terribly disappointed."

Wade ducked behind the counter as his mother passed. She was shivering, he noted, as though she'd been hit by some sudden chill. Maybe it would be alright to talk to her about Mr. Kringle after all, but not exactly straight off. First he'd talk about the store in general. Later he might mention that Mr. Kringle didn't seem so bad - for a crazy old man. But he would approach with caution. And as much as he wanted to hear what she'd say to Uncle Rhett, he dared not get any closer. But he did see his mother pause for a split second in front of a mirror and push a loose straggle of hair beneath her bonnet and give herself a front-view inspection. He even thought he saw her smile.

Across the store, Rhett was involved in selecting a new pair of socks for himself.

"These are better," Scarlett said, reaching toward the opposite end of the counter to pick up another pair, which she handed to him, "we sell a lot of these, and they're half the price."

"Yes," he said nonchalantly, "…they're more practical for a workingman, Scarlett, but not for me. I like a thinner one. Like this." He held up a pair more pleasing to his eye.

She rolled her eyes. "Most expensive pair in the store."

"I should think you'd be glad to make the sale."

"Suit yourself. Buy a pair in every color if it makes you happy."

Rhett laughed and for a moment, however brief, they were friends again. But he knew better.

"Could I ask you something?"

"Ask away, Scarlett."

"Why are you here?"

"I was passing by …"

"You didn't need to come in. And I'm quite certain your reason for coming wasn't a pair of socks."

He seemed slightly relieved. "Actually, you are quite correct. I came in the hope of seeing you. I would like, if you're agreeable, to sit down and talk. Preferably over a meal. Tonight, if you're available."

"Tonight?" she replied. "I suppose I can." She immediately regretted her quick answer.

"I'm glad to hear it. There are quite a few items I'd like to discuss with you before I leave town for good."

"For good?" she asked, quietly.

"Yes. After the holiday. The children are old enough now that they'll understand. I did a great deal of thinking last night, Scarlett, and I think that you've been very right to… ah, no point now. We can discuss it further tonight. I've already arranged for Wade and Ella to go over to Ashley's for the whole evening."

"You have?" she said, feeling too weak-kneed to say anything else.

"Indeed," he sounded very businesslike in tone. "…now then, I must go. I have some other matters to attend to. I'll see you tonight. Goodbye, Scarlett."

As he watched his Uncle Rhett turn to go, Wade found himself carrying on a silent conversation with God from his place behind the counter. Oh God, would it be at all possible for Mother and Uncle Rhett to be happy together again? I understand that it's not an easy request, but I would be so grateful if you could that I'd never bother you again for another thing. But if this is something you can't arrange, then could you please make it so they are happy apart? Thank you, dear Lord."


	6. Chapter 6

**Hi guys! Brette here again, with Chapter 6. This one's a bit shorter than the previous two, but I hope you enjoy it! Thanks so much for all your continued feedback and encouragement. I am still pushing for a Christmas completion, but will see. I'm adding another chapter that I had not planned to include Scarlett and Rhett's conversation. I'm hoping to have it posted by tomorrow … so … As always,** e**njoy! Let me know what you think -**

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><p><strong>* Repeat Disclaimer: Themesdialogue/characters, etc… are all the property of their respective copyright holders. **

**I'm just borrowing them. ***

* * *

><p><strong>6.<strong>

A playful breeze from the open window hit the pine tree that Ashley and Dilcey, Beau's Mammy and Pork's wife, were painstakingly decorating with tinsel garland and mingled the scent along with the kitchen aromas of coffeecake and smoked ham. The table was set for five with linen napkins, a fresh tablecloth, and the best bone china.

"But Dilcey, my good lady," Kris was protesting, "you must have forgotten to set a place for yourself!"

"No suh," she called from the sitting room. "Ah's gwine home ter cook for my own family, suh. And my boy Joel done gived me a letter fo' you, suh. Ah tole him that his Daddy and I got all them things he wanted."

"I'm sure it wasn't as long as Beau's," Ashley remarked.

Kris smiled. "Not at all, Mr. Wilkes. Your Beau is a fine boy. And Joel is equally as fine, I'm sure, Dilcey."

"He's a good 'un, suh. Same as Mist' Beau. And Mist' Wade and Miss Ella. They's all good chiles."

"Indeed. A more splendid group of children I've yet to meet. But I fear that young Wade and Ella are suffering terribly, and I am quite at a loss for how to make it right."

"I suppose you've become aware of Scarlett and Captain Butler's … difficulties?" Ashley said.

"I had an inkling, Mr. Wilkes. Mrs. Butler, she's…she's a sad sort of person, isn't she?"

"Miss Scarlett had ter tote a weary lode, suh," Dilcey supplied. "Yes suh. Too young ter do the things she had ter do."

"But Scarlett never complained." Ashley interjected. "Never. She still doesn't. Even now."

"That sir, is quite apparent. It's a pity, really. I can see that she is a terribly kind person, just terribly fearful that it'll be spotted …particularly by Captain Butler. But despite it all, I believe that they love one another very much."

Ashley and Dilcey exchanged knowing glances. "I don't know how it happened exactly," said Ashley, " and what I do know is pieced together from fragments of a half a dozen conversations. She was stunned when he left. Stunned. And I'm afraid that I've been little help to her. She's good as raised the children by herself, and she's seen to Beau as well. But despite all that, she's filled with these bitter, bitter thoughts. Butler did it to her, of course -"

"No suh, Mist' Ashley," Dilcey cut in. "War done that to Miss Scarlett. Cap'n Butler jes' saved her."

"Saved her?" Ashley's face slowly turned incredulous. "Scarlett never needed him or anyone else. That's what makes Scarlett, Scarlett."

Kris laughed without making a sound.

"Dinner served, suh," Dilcey said, brushing past the two men and into the kitchen. "Mist' Ashley, fetch them chiles from upstairs, please suh."

Kris rose from his chair, "I'll get them, Dilcey. And are you sure you won't join us for dinner? I must say that I've never smelled such delicious food, and it seems a pity that you'll not get to share it with us."

"Aww, Mist' Kringle, don't you worry none about me. Ah just enjoys cookin' for folks who enjoy eating."

Kris patted his prominent belly. "Well, I certainly do enjoy that, Dilcey. And thank you kindly."

In the upstairs hallway, Wade was watching the white Swiss curtains respond to the gentle change in wind outside, filling the room with lazy warmth. He wondered if there was any better place to be than here. Here with his sister and Beau in Aunt Melly's house, filled with her presence as though she had never left.

Ella was holding the doll that Rhett had presented her with several days before. Wade had not seen her put it down, in truth. But she looked sad as she stroked the porcelain face and real looking black lashes of the doll.

"You okay, E.L.?" Beau asked, using the nickname he had assigned her some years before, when Ella Lorena seemed too much a mouthful for a six-year-old boy.

Ella's eyes rolled downward to the sun-splotted wooden floor. "I think Uncle Rhett's gonna go away tonight."

Wade stood up with a start. Had Mother said something to Ella about it? Why hadn't she told him? "Why do you say that, Ella?"

" 'Cause, I just figured it out now."

"I thought you said he was staying through Christmas?" Beau said, taking a seat next to her.

"Before we left," she looked over at Wade, "Uncle Rhett told Pork to walk a note over to Uncle Henry. He said, 'I want to get this settled up, Pork.' Just like that. I hid behind one of the statues so that he wouldn't see that I'd been listening, but that's what happened."

"Aww, shucks, E.L." Beau put a comforting arm about the little girl's shoulder. "That's not so bad. He probably just had a business matter to take to Uncle Henry before closing, that's all. What'd you think it was?"

Ella's lip trembled as she tried to say the word that had become synonymous with the Apocalypse in the minds of Wade and herself. "D-D-…"

"Divorce," Wade said for her.

"Naw!" Beau's jaw hardened and Wade thought he looked an awful lot like Aunt Melly, then. "Folks don't get a divorce. And when they do, they don't live in the same house. And you said he's living there? He's not left, not since last weekend?"

Wade shook his head. He was observant enough to note his mother and Uncle Rhett's living arrangements were not that of a normal, happily married couple, but he didn't feel that that was good information to share with his younger cousin and sister.

"That's true, I suppose."

"But he acts like he'd rather be someplace else," Ella said sadly. "I asked him to have tea with my dolls and I yesterday, and he did, but you could tell that he wished that it was Bonnie instead of me. I could just tell."

"Naw!" Beau said again, more emphatically this time.

Funny, Wade thought to himself, Ella never talked like that to him. Of course she missed Bonnie; he did too! But Lord, he had never been jealous of the pretty, blue-eyed baby. Uncle Rhett did love her an awful lot. But she was a girl, and he was a young man. Uncle Rhett just loved him in a different way. He had never thought about how Ella might have felt. She had only been three years or so older than Bonnie. He felt a surge of protectiveness at the sight of his sobbing sister. It wasn't her fault that Frank Kennedy was her daddy instead of Uncle Rhett! The idea that Uncle Rhett would take that out on his sweet little sister was unthinkable. It made his blood boil.

"E.L., I'm surprised at you," Beau was telling her. "You oughta know better than that. Why, Uncle Rhett's as good as your daddy too and he loves you! What's he said to make you think any different?"

"Oh, nothing really. It's just, sometimes he says just enough of something to let me know that what he says is all a lie and that he doesn't really love us and that he won't come back no matter how many times we ask."

Wade did understand that. He had had the same feelings himself at some point. That lie he and Ella had told each other so often that they had come to believe it true: Uncle Rhett was coming back to Atlanta just to see them. They had just been happy to see him and didn't know any better. But Ella, in her childish wisdom, had seen what he had failed to see. And that grieved him to his very core.

"Wade, Beau, Ella?" Mr. Kringle called all three of their names slowly and thoughtfully. "Well then. The three of you look as if you're devising a plot. Would you mind terribly if I joined in?"

Ella sniffed and wiped her nose. "No, we're not plotting, sir."

"We're just talking," Beau informed him, his eyes shining with supreme trust and belief. "Hey, maybe you can help, if you please, Mr. Kringle?"

"I'd be delighted, Beau. What seems to be the trouble?"

"Tell him, Ella," Beau nudged her.

"Mr. Kringle won't be able to do anything about it," Wade heard himself say aloud. He felt as if he were parroting his mother.

"Yes he can!" Beau said emphatically. "As long as you believe."

Mr. Kringle grinned.

"Why can't you believe?" Beau challenged his cousin.

Wade paused before he answered. His first thought was that they all, he and Ella included, had an enormous capacity for believing in anything that afforded them a bit of comfort, even if that particular thing wasn't so. That had, of course, been what his mother had meant all along, though she hadn't explained it in such a nice way as Aunt Melly might have.

Again, as if he sensed his discomfit, Mr. Kringle stepped in and relieved Wade from answering.

"Ella, dear," he addressed her. "Surely there is something you must want for Christmas. I'm very good at keeping secrets, you know."

Ella wiped her nose with the back of her sleeve. "Nothing, thank you."

"Tell him, E.L.!" Beau urged. "Me and Wade'll even go downstairs, if you don't want to say in front of us."

Mr. Kringle nodded in affirmation, although Wade personally thought it a very silly idea. He knew what Ella wanted, of course. The same thing he did. Something that could not be bought.

Ella shook her head. "I just wish we could all be together for Christmas. That's all I want. That's all I ever want. And I expect that if you're really Santa Claus, you can get it for me. If not, then you're just a very nice man with a white beard like my mother says."

"Oh, Ella dear," Mr. Kringle caught her eye. "Just because each and every child doesn't get his or her wish doesn't mean that there's not a Santa Claus!"

"That's what I thought you might say," Wade interjected.

"You hush your mouth, Wade Hampton!" Beau said. "So basically you have it all figured out, huh? Well, I hope she gets her wish, just to prove you wrong!"

I hope so, too, Wade thought sadly to himself. But he wasn't going to say _that_ out loud.

"If Santa Claus can really make reindeer fly, and visit thousands of children all over the world and give each and every one of them gifts, all in one night. He could make Mother and Uncle Rhett love each other again and make it all alright…Right?"

"I can't argue with that," Mr. Kringle said heavily, as though conceding to her.

"You can't promise her that," Wade said, a little defensively. "You're just getting her hopes up and then …"

"It's alright, Wade Hampton," Ella interrupted. "I don't think that I'll really get those things, so I won't be that sad if I don't."

"Wade?" Mr. Kringle addressed him, "You don't believe in me or your Uncle Rhett, apparently. Is there anyone whose opinion you do trust?"

"Mother," he replied, so softly that Beau and Ella could barely hear him. "She's the only person who's never left me."

Ella nodded in the affirmative. "Now that's the truth!"

"Yes, Wade, I can certainly understand that."

Wade didn't hear his sister's answer, nor Mr. Kringle's subsequent reply. He was too absorbed in watching the curtains as they fluttered in the suddenly gusty wind. It was as though they were waiting for something to happen.

He just hoped that his mother was alright.


	7. Chapter 7

**And tomorrow came…! I can't thank you all enough for your kind words. Seriously, I am so glad that this story seems to be resonating with so many - it makes my Christmas! (wickedwms: If you get a chance, PLEASE watch Miracle on 34****th**** Street, the inspiration behind this story … the 1947 one is my favorite of the 2 theatrical versions, and it is one of my all-time favorite holiday films of all time!) **

**As for me, I promise to keep updating (daily, if at all possible) - Christmas deadline is looming, but it's still my goal. Your comments really are driving this story and are so very encouraging, so … THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart! **

…**and Merry Christmas! **

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><p><strong>* Repeat Disclaimer: Themesdialogue/characters, etc… are all the property of their respective copyright holders. **

**I'm just borrowing them. ***

* * *

><p><strong>7.<strong>

The next morning, Wade waited until he heard the sound of his mother's voice in the hallway before getting out of bed. Uncle Rhett was still there … at least, he had been when they had gotten home the night before. He had said hello to him and Ella as they had walked in, then they had kissed their mother and been sent on to bed. Wade had left his bedroom door ever so slightly ajar, just in case Uncle Rhett decided to leave. From within the safety of his room he had strained his ears for sounds underneath. The creak of a chair? A footstep? Voices?

Suddenly, the door to the downstairs parlor was swung open and he heard the tiniest snippets of their conversation.

"…and I assumed you would have been there. He has to be there, I kept telling myself. He wouldn't leave without saying goodbye."

"Well, I assured you that I'd be back, didn't I?"

"Yes, I think so."

"Please …" Wade could see the shadows of his mother and Uncle Rhett on the landing. The Rhett-shaped form appeared to hold out a palm. "I am very sorry to have to do this on a holiday. I should have waited for a more opportune moment."

"Oh, no. I'm resolved to it. But I'm not ready, Rhett, not yet."

"Then I'll wait until you are."

Then, at exactly eleven-fifteen, the yellow ribbon of light from underneath his mother's door went off. He didn't hear another sound the rest of the night.

"Good morning, Wade Hampton," said his mother. "Morning to you too, sleepyhead," she addressed Ella, who was peeking out the crack of her bedroom door as well. Clearly she had had the same idea as Wade.

His mother, for her part, looked neither pleasantly or unpleasantly surprised to see the two of them still abed. She didn't look any way at all except neutral. The sash of her cranberry-colored housedress was tied in a bow, and her long, black hair fell in obedient waves down her back. She looked immaculate, but then again, his mother always looked like that.

He yawned a smile and then fought back another yawn as he dropped into his chair at the breakfast table. Uncle Rhett was already seated at the table's head, the seat in which his mother normally sat.

"Good morning, Mrs. Butler," he said. "Good morning, children."

"Good morning, sir," Wade responded before glancing over at his mother. Her face was registering first surprise, then pleasure. Maybe whatever they had discussed hadn't been so bad after all …?

Pansy promptly set down a platter of fresh smoked sausage and hot griddle cakes in front of Wade, whose mouth was watering. Ella waited patiently for the fresh biscuits, presumably the next course.

"Would you like some oatmeal, Wade?" his mother passed the piping hot bowl. "Be careful. Don't spill when you dip it out. Ella, hand me your plate, honey."

"Hard boiled eggs, Mist' Wade?" Pansy inquired as she made her way back from the kitchen.

"Yes, please," he replied, still holding his breath.

Rhett cleared his throat, startling Wade mid-way through a bite of griddlecake. "Wade, Ella, your mother and I have something very important which we would like to discuss with you."

Wade could feel the insides of his stomach start swirling around, and the hot foot suddenly tasted like ash in his mouth.

His mother blotted her lips with her napkin. "Ella, biscuit? Wade?"

Wade shook his head No, keeping his eyes focused on Uncle Rhett.

Spotting the _Atlanta Journal-Constitution_ on the table, Wade caught a glimpse of the biggest blackest headline he'd seen since the article about Mr. Kringle appearing in his mother's store. Indeed, he thought that he could make out the name …

"What's that say, Uncle Rhett?" he blurted out without thinking.

Rhett glanced over at the paper and skimmed the headline. "What the ..?"

"What is that?" Wade's mother snapped. "Let me see that -"

"Kringle arrested, charged with …assault?"

"What?" Wade jumped to his feet, sending his chair to the floor with a crash and earning a look of reprove from his mother.

"Mr. Kringle?" Ella whimpered. "Not _our_ Mr. Kringle?"

"Now settle down, children, there must be some mistake," their mother said. "Mr. Kringle was with you last night, right, at Uncle Ashley's?"

"Yes, ma'am," they chorused together.

Wade moved to the other side of Uncle Rhett to read the corner of the paper. He could make out the headline: SANTA CLAUS JAILED FOR ASSAULTING MAYOR'S SON.

"Mayor's son? Angier's boy?"

Wade grimaced and his mother explained for Uncle Rhett's benefit the reason why.

"Wade Hampton doesn't get along with Nolan Angier. He really is a nasty thing, a bullheaded pig about what, Wade, sixteen?"

Wade nodded.

"I would have assumed that they would have been friendly. Along with the Bart's children…?"

Wade's mother stood over him, hands on her hips. "He has not associated with them in over a year. Something else you've missed, while you've been away."

Wade felt his heart thudding in his chest as he waited, waited for the inevitable clash of two iron wills. But there was none.

"My mistake," Rhett said, looking into his wife's face. "I suppose our main concern should be poor Mr. Kringle. I have to hand it to you, Scarlett … I never assumed that the old fool would be dangerous."

"Great balls of fire - have you seen the size of Nolan Angier? He's twice Wade's size and meaner than a hornet. If anything, he must have provoked Kris! Why look here, Rhett, 'Kringle stated that the youth provoked the assault, although the sheriff refuses to comment further on the situation…' Oh it's ridiculous!"

Rhett's frown began to melt into a smile, showing his perfect set of white teeth. "Am I to understand that you're more concerned about the man himself rather than the negative publicity the store might receive as a result?"

Scarlett straightened up and continued to read aloud from the paper. "The centerpiece of Kennedy's Emporium … no comment from Kennedy's … this is just..! It's not to be borne."

"I suppose your competitors are having the last laugh."

"Oh bother the store. It isn't about that. It's about this poor old man who's sitting in jail over a misunderstanding."

"But -"

"He's innocent, Rhett, I'm sure of it. I know that he is. I believe what he says."

"Well Scarlett, I'm afraid that the mayor's son says differently."

"We have to do something, Rhett! It's Christmas."

"He's already been tried in the court of public opinion. And there's not a soul in Atlanta that hasn't experienced his, to use your words, _delusion_, firsthand."

"And here I thought that _you_ were encouraging the children to believe in him."

"And I recall your reference to him as a, what was it, a crazy old man?"

"He may very well be a crazy old man, but he's not dangerous! Ashley says .. -"

"Oh, yes, if Ashley says it, then it must be so!"

"Rhett, can't you just…?"

"I'm not sure what you think yourself capable of, Scarlett, but you can't just sweep this incident under the rug."

"Well," she fixed him with a stare. "I intend to walk down to that courthouse and try. You can do what you like."

And without so much as a by-your-leave, she marched off toward the staircase. As Ella tearfully asked to be excused, Wade attempted to speak to his Uncle Rhett, but he wasn't in too much of a mood to converse with him.

"Uncle Rhett, why are you mad at Mother?"

"Mad at her? Why Wade, I'm not mad at her. Or you or Ella or anyone else. I'm frustrated about a good number of things. But that certainly isn't indicative of anger on my part."

"I bet Mother can fix things for Mr. Kringle," Wade said enthusiastically. "'Cause everybody says she's just a born saleslady and I bet she can get him out of trouble. She will, won't she, Uncle Rhett?"

A slow smile spread across Rhett's lips. But his eyes weren't smiling.

"A born saleslady. That's about right."

"Oh, Uncle Rhett, Mr. Kringle _has _to be okay. He will, you'll see. Nolan Angier's nothing but a dirty liar and a bully. Why, one day, he smacked me upside the head so hard my ear started to bleed and I -"

"He hit you?"

"Yes, sir. After school. And Dilcey's boy, Joel, well, Nolan had it bad out for him too. He was fierce mad on account of Joel taking reading lessons with Beau. He called him an uppity nigger and Joel said back that he wasn't uppity at all, and that he was Beau's friend. Well, Nolan and his friends didn't like that, so they tried to spook him by drawing nooses all over his books."

"What did your mother say when you came home bleeding?"

Wade felt embarrassed by the way the conversation had turned. The last thing he wanted in the world was for Uncle Rhett to think of him as weak … but he felt compelled to restate what his mother had said, exactly. "Well, she said to me, 'Wade Hampton, don't you know that Nolan Angier and his friends are nothing but white trash? Do you know that? And I don't want you to associate with them any more, understand?'"

Rhett laughed. Surely not at him, Wade thought.

"But that's not all, Uncle Rhett. She won't even wait on Mrs. Angier in the store. Nor Mamie Bart or any of those other white trash women."

He was still laughing. He brought out a white handkerchief from his jacket pocket and dabbed at his eyes. "Oh Wade. I have lived to witness a miracle. Lord, what a contradiction!"

"What do you mean, sir?" Wade inquired, confused.

"I mean that your mother has changed a great deal. More than I had given her credit for."

That sounded suspiciously like …praise …for his mother?

"If you think so," Wade said, trying to frame his statement, "then why can't you believe that she wants to help Mr. Kringle?"

His stepfather offered no answer, but his arm dropped across Wade's shoulders in a sudden hugging motion. "I hear you, Wade. I hear you. Tell you what, while your mother tries to work her magic down at the jail, why don't we take a drive down to your Uncle Henry's and see if he has any legal advice for our friend Mr. Kringle, eh?"


	8. Chapter 8

**Hi guys! Brette here again (I can't believe it), with Chapter 8 - you guys get a "two-for-one"! Happy Christmas Eve Morning!**

**Enjoy! Let me know what you think - **

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><p><strong>* Repeat Disclaimer: Themesdialogue/characters, etc… are all the property of their respective copyright holders. I'm just borrowing them. ***

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><p><strong>8.<strong>

For awhile Wade carefully kept track of time spent waiting outside the door of his Uncle Henry Hamilton's law office while the he and Uncle Rhett conversed. One minute, three minutes, five minutes, seventeen minutes. Then, abruptly, a voice came intruding into his thoughts.

"Wade Hampton! Is Rhett in there?"

"Oh, yes, Mother," he said. "For about twenty minutes now."

Scarlett's face gradually relaxed. "Good. He can pay him, then."

"Yes, ma'am?"

"When he defends him. It seems that the mayor will drop all the charges against Mr. Kringle if the judge will agree to send him to the insane asylum."

"But! That's not right! How can he, Mother? How?"

She stood next to him. "They can do whatever they want. But we're going to fight it and Uncle Henry is going to help us."

"Did you get to see him, Mother? Mr. Kringle, I mean."

"No. But they said that he's terribly discouraged. I'll tell you, Wade Hampton, Ashley told me what really happened last night. Dilcey's boy was waiting for her out on Ashley's porch when those no-count thugs happened by. Well, he starts spouting off nonsense about Santa Claus knowing that they'd been bad children and he knew the man personally so … anyway, one of them held poor Joel while the mayor's boy pummeled him. Dilcey heard the commotion and ran back inside hollering for Ashley. Well, before Ashley had a chance to get outside, Kris was off like a shot. And then he gave that Nolan a good whack with the top of that cane he always carries with him, which is no more than the brat deserved. See Wade, they can't lock him up for that, they just can't!"

"You're saying that they'll let him go, then?"

"I'm telling you that there was a reason for what he did, and a damned good one."

Wade stood up and felt the sensation of lightness, like someone had just bent down, picked him up, and lifted a burden off of his heart.

"It'll be alright, Wade Hampton, you'll see."

He felt his heart swell as his mother squeezed his shoulder. She gave his arm a couple of short pats before finding his eyes. "Everything is going to be alright."

As the door of Uncle Henry's office swung open, Wade kept his eyes focused on his mother's. A rattle from his elderly great uncle's throat sent his gaze toward the door.

Rhett took a step forward. "Well, what's the word?"

"Why it really is the silliest thing, Rhett. Dilcey's boy was being mugged and Kris intervened. Perfectly understandable."

"Your Dilcey, Scarlett?" Uncle Henry interjected. Wade wanted to inquire as to the implication that Dilcey belonged to anyone. She worked for Uncle Ashley, true, but she wasn't _his_.

"Yes, that's who it is," his mother answered. "And she'll testify to what happened. Her boy too."

"I take it Ashley didn't see it happen?"

Scarlett shook her head. "He was inside. But Dilcey did! And Kris, of course."

"Lots of times I wish that darkies could testify, Scarlett…that'd make my job a good deal easier."

"But … why can't they?" Wade blurted out loud, his face fired with sudden redness.

Uncle Henry looked amused. "What state you think you live in, boy?" He took out a gold fountain pen from his breast pocket and opened a small, leather-bound notebook to a clean page. "Tell me," he said after a pause, "what kind of defense do you want me to offer on behalf of this man?"

"That he taught a lying, hateful, vicious boy a well-deserved lesson."

"That's all well and good, Scarlett, but probable cause isn't the burden of proof in this case. The assault charge is going to be dropped as long as the boy suffered no serious injury. And I can't figure that a rap on the head with a cane would do too much damage. No, the burden is going to be convincing the judge that our friend Mr. Kringle doesn't belong in the funny farm over in Milledgeville. And quite frankly, I'm not sure that he doesn't. Thoughts?"

Rhett nodded. "I've given it a fair amount of thought, Henry. And you know, I find that what happens to Kris Kringle will affect a good deal more people than Kris Kringle himself. People like me, for instance, who believe in what the man stands for."

Wade watched closely as Uncle Henry's face changed to a color that closely resembled purple. "Now listen to me, Rhett, I have no problem with Kringle. But you're not talking sensibly. You can't believe that the Santa Claus myth is actualized in a delusional old man! Why, next thing you know, they'll be calling _me_ Santa Claus. Hell! Scarlett, you don't buy into this nonsense, do you?"

Rhett looked down, and it was plain to Wade that he was watching his mother ever so closely and now he wanted to find out if she believed in Mr. Kringle, like he did.

"Yes, Henry, I sure do. Well - not that he's Santa Claus, I mean. But I do believe that there's something special about him. His manners, maybe. It's the strangest thing, Henry, but every time I'm standing next to him, I feel as if I'm twelve years old again. But whatever it is, I know in my heart that he's not a danger to anybody. And Wade and Ella just love him, isn't that so, Wade Hampton?"

Wade nodded emphatically. "He's the kindest, smartest man I've ever known. He knows all sorts of languages, and all there is to know about toys … and families…"

Uncle Henry was looking down at him as though Mr. Kringle couldn't be all those things he said he was. His Uncle Rhett was looking at him more carefully, his hands motionless. Something was unnerving about those unmoving hands.

"Well, who's to say that the person of Kris Kringle is incompatible with that of Santa Claus? If you ask me, they're not so very different."

Uncle Henry looked at Rhett as if he was the one who needed commitment.

"The city's children were certainly convinced. Hundreds of them. That's it, Henry. Publicity. A substantial amount of publicity…"

Henry laughed wryly as comprehension dawned on his face. "A slew of children stampeding through Fulton County Courthouse? Ha. I can see it now - Pontius Pilate will be more popular than the judge who condemns Santa Claus to the insane asylum so close to Christmas…why I'll be …Rhett Butler, you sly old dog! Get the judge to recuse himself and Kringle will walk. Your husband should have been a lawyer, Scarlett."

"But, please sir," Wade said, unconvinced at the soundness of Uncle Henry's logic, "what _if_ Mr. Kringle is the real Santa Claus?"

"I don't follow, son," Uncle Henry sighed, with either boredom or irritation.

"You're probably right," he said quickly, trying to make his logic compatible with that of his elders, "but just suppose that he was. After all, Uncle Ashley couldn't aff- what I meant was that, Uncle Ashley wasn't going to get Beau any of the presents he asked for, but Mr. Kringle told him exactly where to get them and at the best price, and he did speak Dutch to that little girl in the store, even though he isn't Dutch. And he's interested in us. I mean, in what we want for Christmas. Most adults don't ask that." He hoped that he hadn't been inadvertently rude, or contradicted himself by answering his own questions. That would have been mortifying, if he had.

He continued to stand there, waiting for one of them to say something.

Finally, Rhett threw back his head in a laugh. "Completely logical and completely unexpected."

"Wade Hampton," Uncle Henry addressed him with utter seriousness. "I believe with all my heart that you'll make a very good lawyer some day, but son, you have to understand that the prestige and dignity of an old, established name, such as ours, has to be upheld. And it can't be squandered by a sentimental whim, you understand? Now, he's a very nice old man, I'm sure. And as much as I admire you for wanting to help him, you've got to be realistic and face the facts. Else you'll end up with a nervous temperament like," he sighed heavily, "my _sister_."

Not one tear was going to fall from his eye, he promised himself. Even if his Mother and Uncle Rhett laughed at him or shot him down completely.

"Mother? Don't you believe that he _could be_? Just like God, could be?"

He hoped that God didn't strike him dead, just then, for his blasphemous speech. At least he knew that none of the three adults present were good churchgoers.

He hoped that there was no trace of injury in his voice. "Isn't that what faith is supposed to be - believing in something when common sense tells you not to?…"

Outside the law office, the sun had positioned itself in the dead center of the sky, rendering it warmer than it had been for the past week, and it seemed to follow him as he walked the length of the block, past the store, and back to Beau's house, where Ella had been sent for the day.

The heavy door opened to reveal Beau, who looked perturbed. "Where have you been?" he said, his tone brusque. "We've been busy."

"Who?"

"Me, Joel, E.L., Frank, Raoul, Joe. Some more boys from school who dropped letters by."

"Letters?"

"Yup, letters to Mr. Kringle."

"Wade!" Ella looked up from the letter she was painstakingly penning and he sat down next to her at the kitchen table, peering over her shoulder to read it. "Did you hear what happened?"

"Yup. They're going to have a trial. Tomorrow morning."

"Like for murder?"

Wade shrugged. "Sort of. But not because he of what he did. It's just because he says he's Santa Claus."

Ella rubbed her hand across her chin. "I think that he might be the real Santa Claus."

"A lot folks believe that," Beau added. "I think he might be, too."

"Well, what are you writing letters for, then?" Wade questioned, Uncle Henry's words about children stampeding through the courthouse echoing in his mind.

"Well, we're going to collect as many as we can from as many folks as we can. Joel's going to get all the folks in his neighborhood to write one too."

"But, won't that look bad if …"

"Naw," Beau shook his head. "The more letters we can send, the better. That way at least, Mr. Kringle will know that we believe in him and that we're all on his side, anyway."

"Beau?" Ella looked up from her half-written letter. "I just thought of something. How are we going to get our letters to Mr. Kringle?"

"Well, I reckon we just march them on down to the Post Office when we've collected them all and they'll deliver them to the courthouse."

"That's an idea," Wade murmured contemplatively. "Beau, sometimes you have really good ideas."

"Oh, well," he said modestly, "I just figured that it's something Mother might have said to do."


	9. Chapter 9

**Hi guys! Brette here, AGAIN! I can't thank everyone enough for the support and continued encouragement over the past several days. This has been a lot of fun to write and I hope that you enjoy both this chapter and the conclusion in the upcoming Chapter 10, to be posted tomorrow (on schedule!). **

**So, all that said, please enjoy! **

And a very MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL!

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><p><strong>* Repeat Disclaimer: Themesdialogue/characters, etc… are all the property of their respective copyright holders. I'm just borrowing them. ***

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><p><strong>9.<strong>

On Main Street, something was different - there were certainly too many people hanging around the courthouse, their voices high with excitement. Especially with it being Christmas Eve! "And I'll tell you this," Wade heard someone say as he worked his way through the crowd, "-the judge that rules against Santa Claus'll be impeached - you just mark my words!"

Everywhere he and Ella and Beau walked, they could feel the strong current of excitement palpably in the very air. Wade took his sister's hand as they moved toward the Post Office, pausing briefly to listen to the editor of the Journal-Constitution holding informal court with some of Atlanta's best people.

"Will you testify, Dr. Meade?"

The doctor shook his head. "I'd just be repeating what everyone else knows already. The old man isn't dangerous at all. If you want my opinion sir, personal and professional, I'd say that this trial thing is a waste of your tax dollars and mine. And you can quote me on that!"

Inside the Post Office, the three children saw a small line, only three or so customers lined up in front of the counter.

"Now, you just let me do the talking," Wade said as their turn came. He placed his faded canvas bag atop the counter. It had been stuffed with letters to the point of overflowing.

The postal clerk was a pleasant faced man of middle age. "Something I can do for you children today?"

"Yes sir, if you please. We have a good many letters to send, so my uncle gave us two dollars apiece for my cousin here's allowance, and he said it was all right to bring them here for mailing."

"This is quite a few letters here, yessuh. And - where do you figure on mailing this here to, son?"

"Just to the courthouse," Wade pointed toward the building across the street. "They're all for our friend, Mr. Kringle. His trial is today and my Uncle Henry is defending him."

"Henry Hamilton? You don't say."

"Yes, sir. And we'd walk over ourselves, but the constable said that we're not allowed to bring anything into the courtroom, so we figured that you could do it, if you please, sir."

"Tell you what," the clerk said as though he didn't think the request unusual in the slightest. "Since it is Christmas Eve, I'll get one of my boys to walk them over there. Can't hurt, eh? Oh, and you keep your allowance money, kids. It's on me."

"Thank you, sir." Wade attempted to channel whatever portion of his mother's poise he had absorbed over the years. "You've been most helpful."

Then Ella looked up and smiled. "Merry Christmas, sir."

The postal clerk was looking down at them as though he liked what he saw. "And Merry Christmas to you too, young lady. Hey, Joe! Hey! These children need these letters delivered over to the courthouse straightaway. Yes, yes, they're addressed to Santa Claus, I'm aware of that. Just give them on to the Kringle fellow's attorney, Mr. Hamilton…"

Two men wearing striped ties and business suits opened the door and told Wade in no uncertain terms that he was to find his mother directly. Ella and Beau had pleaded to come too, but the men at the door had said that only one of them would go in or none of them would, so they had voted two to one in Wade's favor, as he was the oldest. Wade had abstained, simply because he didn't like the idea of Ella sitting outside unattended. But Beau promised to watch her close, and they were sitting right outside. He followed the wall on the left side of the courtroom and, as bidden, headed directly toward his mother in the front row, directly behind the defense table.

"Wade Hampton," his mother whispered softly. "Where's your sister?"

"Sitting right outside with Beau," he whispered back. "I just wanted to see what was happening."

His mother nodded her head up and down. Wade looked past his mother's elbow to see if Uncle Rhett was still there. He was. "Uncle Rhett, have you spoken with Mr. Kringle?"

Rhett nodded and answered softly. "Your Uncle Henry and I were up all night discussing competent authorities, really, any competent authority who might make some statement on Kris's behalf. No such luck. Well, I suppose this is it."

"Yes sir, guess it is," Wade whispered back, trying to keep up his end of the conversation. Then, with sudden speed, Mr. Kringle and Uncle Henry had entered the courtroom and taken their seats, followed by a nasty-faced man that could only be the prosecuting attorney.

Wade kept his eyes focused on the stooped, old figure of Mr. Kringle, the nice man who had merely tried to be kind to his family, wondering if a blessing is still a blessing if it lasted only a little while. Pondering on it further, he reckoned that Jesus's apostles might have felt the same way before He was crucified.

"Oyez, Oyez, all persons having business with the Fulton County Supreme Court, the Honorable Justice Harper presiding, draw near, give attendance and ye shall be heard." The bailiff's dry voice cut into Wade's thoughts. But he didn't hear the rest of his words. He was just too filled up with feelings of sadness that such a nice man as Mr. Kringle was to be dealt such a fate. He just hoped that he had a chance to read his letter. It had stated very simply after a brief salutation: I believe in you.

"And furthermore," the prosecutor was saying, "the defense has yet to offer one piece of evidence to substantiate this preposterous claim. Not one authoritative proof that this man, Kris Kringle, is in actuality, Santa Claus. In view of these facts, particularly as it is Christmas Eve, and we are all, I presume, anxious to return home, I respectfully ask that the Court sign the commitment papers without any further delay. Thank you very much, Your Honor."

Wade heard at that very moment a sudden movement in the back of the courtroom, and the bailiff walked up from the back to Uncle Henry, then to the prosecutor, and finally, to the judge. The judge shook his head, and the lines in his face creased from his chin to his hairline. He didn't look happy.

"I certainly don't see how this pertains to the case…" Wade heard him say.

Uncle Henry kept rubbing his fist back and forth across his chin. He looked like he had just been given a Christmas gift.

"If you'll allow me, Your Honor, I do have something further to add."

"Make it quick, Mr. Hamilton," the judge said. "Although I'm quite sure I don't see what the Post Office has to do with these proceedings!"

The Post Office! The letters! Wade sure hoped that Uncle Henry wouldn't get into trouble with the judge on his account.

"Yes, Your Honor," Henry nodded. "As you stated, my evidence does concern the Post Office Department, which, I'm sure the Court realizes, is an official agency of the United States Government. And as such, is under certain regulations, one of which renders it illegal to willfully misdirect mail or intentionally distribute it to the wrong party."

"Mr. Hamilton, I still fail to understand your point and must ask you to clarify, quite quickly, sir."

"Very well, Your Honor. Thank you, sir, I'll take them please." He held in his hand three letters. Wade recognized the handwriting on the first one - there was no mistaking Beau's scrawl.

"I have three letters here, Your Honor, each of which were delivered to this courthouse by this gentleman, an employee of the United States Postal Service, and each addressed very simply to _Santa Claus_. And yet, these letters have just been delivered to none other than my client, Kris Kringle."

"Your Honor," the prosecutor interjected. "I still fail to see how three letters could be considered substantive proof!"

"I've been told that there are further exhibits, sir -"

"Well for Heaven's sake, Mr. Hamilton, produce them! Have the man from the Post Office put them here on the bench."

"But, Your Honor-"

"Put them here, Mr. Hamilton. Here!"

And they came. One hundred and seventy-two letters, all painstakingly collected by Beau, Wade, and Ella, spread out over the bench like a tidal wave until they spilled out into the judge's lap and into the aisle ways.

The judge rubbed a fist back and forth across his chin while Uncle Henry finished speaking. "Your Honor, each and every one of these letters is addressed to Santa Claus and the Post Office has seen fit to deliver each and every one of them to Mr. Kringle. It is presumable, therefore, that the Post Office, a branch of the United States Government, recognizes that indeed, there is a Santa Claus, and that he exists within the person of Kris Kringle."

The judge's incredulous smile showed a vacancy between two front teeth. "Well then, Mr. District Attorney - there you have it. Since the United States Government declares this man to be the one-and-only Santa Claus, then this court will certainly not dispute it. Therefore, case dismissed!"

"Better say something," encouraged Rhett over the noisy clamor of the courtroom, abuzz with the same excitement Wade had witnessed on the streets. "This might be your last chance to speak to Mr. Kringle for awhile."

"What do you mean?" Wade's mother replied, "We're having a big Christmas party at the store tonight, to celebrate! And tomorrow, breakfast, a beautiful tree…why, we'll ask him to join us!"

"Can we, Mother?" Wade felt his Uncle Rhett's eyes upon him and he said no more. Perhaps Uncle Rhett was offended that his mother wanted to invite Mr. Kringle for breakfast …? Surely not!

She was still talking. "…And Ashley and Beau, of course. Wade, where is Beau? With Ella, outside? I'm sure he'll want to hear the good news."

When she left, Rhett addressed him. "Oh, by the way, I don't think that anyone has mentioned just how large a role you played in Kris's release. You followed your instinct today, Wade, and it paid off. I'm very, very proud of you, son."

Proud? Uncle Rhett was proud of him? He could feel himself smiling back.

"You go on and talk to Mr. Kringle, son. Give him my best, won't you?"

The smile faded as quickly as he had conjured it up. "Yes, sir." As he watched the broad shoulders exit through the double doors, his heart felt as though it was spilling over as much as the letters had from his broken, faded canvas bag. For a moment, he almost called out, "Wait!" but he didn't. The door closed. And Uncle Rhett was gone.

He could see Mr. Kringle, his back towards him, looking out the window to the courtyard below. He was wearing the same jacket and trousers he had donned at the social at the Episcopal Church. Strangely, he didn't seem to hear Wade's approach, for his gaze never strayed from the window.

"Mr. Kringle?"

Like a spring suddenly released, he turned, his round face showing a wide, welcoming smile. But it wasn't the smile that caught Wade quite as much as his eyes. They possessed in large quantity what could only be called a "twinkle", a glossy blue that he remembered seeing once before, but he couldn't quite recollect when.

Arms circled him, bringing him close. "How can I ever thank you, Wade Hampton?"

"It was nothing, sir. I hardly did a thing."

"You believed in me, Wade. How could that be categorized as _nothing_? You believed in me when everyone said that you shouldn't - and you were willing to risk losing face with those who you love most in the world for the sake of a nice old man with a white beard … Nothing? Why, my dear boy - you have given me back my reason to hope."

"For what, Mr. Kringle?"

"For Christmas, my dear boy. For children all over the world. Now then, my boy, I do believe that I am yet to hear your Christmas wish, although, I do have an inkling …"

Wade closed his eyes, praying silently before speaking aloud.

"He's going to leave, isn't he? Even if we begged him to stay, he would still leave."

Mr. Kringle looked angry. "He just can't make his mind up, can he?"

"He can sometimes," Wade said, feeling distinctly unburdened, "when he gets his mind fixed about something. Bonnie, for one. How bad Mother's treated him for another. And even today, it's the same old line it's always been. Maybe Mother'd be better off without him."

As soon as he had said it, a feeling of betrayal swept over him.

"It's nothing, Mr. Kringle. Really, it's not important. We're all so happy for you, sir. So happy."

The elder's eyes seemed to lose some of their sparkle. "You don't need to feign politeness with me, my dear Wade. But do remember, dear boy, it isn't Christmas yet. I might yet be able to reward you for your trust. But even if I cannot, Wade, I hope that you and Ella will never lose that quality which you both possess in such abundance: love. It is an extraordinary gift, powerful and transformative, you understand? Good boy."

Wade felt the muscles about his mouth tugging upward. "Goodbye, Mr. Kringle, and thank you. Oh wait, I nearly forgot. Mother's having a big Christmas party later tonight at the store and she'd be pleased as punch if you'd come."

"Tonight? Not tonight, I'm afraid, my dear boy."

"Right," Wade's face brightened, then fell. "It's Christmas Eve. I forgot."

Mr. Kringle nodded Yes. "Goodbye, Wade Hampton. It has been an honor, and a privilege."

"Mr. Kringle? Even if you don't know for 100 percent positive sure," Wade heard himself asking, "there must be some things you just _know_ about folks. And if I knew, maybe I could help … do you think Uncle Rhett loves us enough to want to stay?"

"Don't ask me to tell you something I don't know, Wade. But hear this, if you hear nothing else: there is nothing wrong with either you or Ella, you understand? Just as there is nothing wrong with your mother and your Uncle Rhett. Stubborn, conflicted, proud individuals, both. But good hearts, the pair of them. And I have witnessed with my own eyes the love that they hold for you and your sister - both of them."

"Maybe that's true. But what about for each other?"

Mr. Kringle's eyes came level with Wade's and he could sense the twinkle returning. "Well, it is Christmas, isn't it? I'll see what I can do to help." He turned his head and looked down at his pocket watch. "Oh dear, and I'm already very, very late. And as for you, young man, be strong for your sister. What was that lovely spiritual I heard Miss Dilcey humming - 'better times a-comin'?' I feel that they will, Wade. I truly do feel that they will."


	10. Chapter 10

**Hi guys! As promised, Chapter 10 - the finale to our Christmas tale. **

Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!

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><p><strong>* Repeat Disclaimer: Themesdialogue/characters, etc… are all the property of their respective copyright holders. **

**I'm just borrowing them. ***

* * *

><p><strong>10.<strong>

By the time the evening was coming to a close, Scarlett was merely glad to have made it through the day. Most shopkeepers had stopped working about noontime, and around four o'clock, they had shut their doors completely, allowing the streets to overflow with the last minute Christmas shoppers, black and white alike. And they had all come to Kennedy's.

And they would be back the day after Christmas, she was sure - their children too. The only difference would be that they'd be all scrubbed and shiny, fresh from Christmas and still feeling the effects of the previous night's eggnog. It'd be like that until New Year, at least. People would speak to one another respectfully and with the utmost kindness. Perpetually drunk on their own holiday cheer, eggnog or not! Ha!

But at least she had made herself useful this Christmas. Not like last year, when she had barely recognized the pitiful creature whose face had stared back at her in the mirror. She had been broken then, so very broken.

Working again had made her feel useful, something she had not experienced since Rhett had tricked her into selling her sawmills to Ashley. And her clerks had been mighty good, and they hadn't offered a word of complaint when she had decided to pitch in and help. She had also learned the value and importance of listening to the folks who came into the store - take Mrs. Meade, for instance, who had said 'wouldn't it be nice if we could have a holiday party and silent auction, just like the old days when Old Man Hollis still ran the general store.' So Scarlett had waited a day or two before sending Wade Hampton to the Meades' with a handwritten note, inviting the Ladies' Association for the Beautification of the Graves of the Glorious Dead to host a holiday soiree at Kennedy's on Christmas Eve, complete with silent auction, all proceeds to benefit the Confederate Widows and Orphans Fund. Well, Mrs. Meade had thought that it was a pretty good idea … of course, she also took it upon herself to hog all the credit for it. 'Wasn't it nice, Mrs. Meade - Oh Mrs. Meade, you have such a kind and generous heart,' Scarlett mimicked under her breath as she continued to wipe down the counter. Lord, but she would be there for hours sweeping the floor from all the cookie crumbs. The Pecard children were so very messy. Not like her own Wade and Ella.

Standing in front of Kennedy's were a few stragglers, Grandpa Meriwether and Rene Pecard among them. Before she could close the door behind her and lock it, Scarlett heard Rene call out to someone else. "Hey, did you hear the news?"

"Sure did," someone across the street replied in an equally booming voice. "My kids were bangin' on my office door an hour ago. Imagine, the Hamilton and Wilkes boys collected all them letters 'fore they could lock up Santa Claus! I'll be…"

Scarlett grinned with pride in spite of herself.

"Know whether he'll be back next year at Kennedy's?" Rene asked, then, seeing that Scarlett was still inside, knocked on the glass window. "Scarlett? Is zat Mr. Kringle back next year?"

Scarlett shrugged and mouthed back, "I can't say."

"Scarlett!" Rene banged again. She wished that he would quit it. She had spent the last hour making those windows shine. "Letter here for you, on ze door!"

She nodded in understanding, but waited for the little Creole and the rest of his companions to move along before peeking out and retrieving it. She took one last glance around the store before finally presuming it serviceable, or at least enough that she could head off home without feeling that she'd left the place in complete disarray. Wade and Ella would be hungry, and they never asked Prissy to fix them dinner. Not that Scarlett blamed them - she didn't exactly trust Prissy's cooking. Pansy had been given the evening off, along with Lou and Pork and Dilcey, from her position over at the Wilkes's. Ashley had mentioned something about cooking, although she was uncertain about that invitation as well. Rhett had made perfectly clear his intention to leave the day after Christmas from the start, but he had said no more about his departure time since the word of Mr. Kringle's legal trouble had broken. She didn't even blame Rhett for leaving - no, it would probably be for the best. But she couldn't help but think about how nice it would be if, by some miracle, he _did_ stay. Miracle indeed, she thought to herself; I could spend my whole lifetime waiting …and his answer still might be a big, fat No.

But still, she took careful account of her reflection in the mirror above the cash register and appraised herself. She had chosen her light-blue midday for the party, velvet and accented with silk on the sleeves and bustle. It happened to be her favorite, and not only because she had ordered it from the most expensive store in New York but because it had neither sashes nor lace. It needed none, so perfectly it accented the silhouette of her figure. Within twenty strokes of the hairbrush she kept stowed underneath the counter, her hair seemed to come alive, and she was hesitant to pin it back. It was glossy and healthy and set off her eyes. Rhett had said once that a man could get lost in her eyes … that Rhett had been a different man than the one she knew now. She stuck the first pin into her hair and near stabbed her scalp.

"I prefer it down."

Startled by the male voice in the dark, locked-from-the-inside room, she hastily whirled around to face its owner.

"Hello, Scarlett." Rhett said.

She brushed some imaginary dust from the skirt of her gown before walking towards him. She straightened her thoughts in logical sequence so that they could have a civil, businesslike discussion, just as he preferred all their conversations, of late.

He was leaning against the register on the opposite counter, taking a long draw from a cigar. She walked over.

"What are you doing in here? I never saw you come in during the party. What do you want?"

"I was wondering the same thing."

"Wade and Ella were looking everywhere. They thought that you'd be pleased about Mr. Kringle and want to celebrate along with the rest of the town."

"I had a good deal on my mind, if it's all the same to you."

"Well, you could have said something to Wade before you took off. He insisted that we wait for half an hour just in case you decided to come back to the courthouse," Scarlett said, "I was afraid you'd gone for good without even saying goodbye..."

"Well, I'm still here." His mouth melted from a frown into the very smallest of smiles. "And I am happy to catch you alone." His face showed the very beginning of a beard.

"You need a shave," she commented. "…before you actually do leave."

For moments, he just stared down at the wooden floor. Then, abruptly, his forehead wrinkled along his hairline as he said, "I could stay. For a day or so."

"I wish you would just go."

"And miss Christmas entirely?"

"It's happened before."

"It has. I'm aware of that. Listen to me well, my dear, I did not choose to remain in Atlanta just so that you may demonstrate your wit."

Scarlett took a swallow of leftover champagne from a glass that had been left on the counter. "This is a mess," she motioned discouragingly to the piles of used dishes covering the hastily set-up tables. "Why did you decide to stay, then?"

"If you want to know the truth, late last night, something - I don't know what - woke me. I followed the light down the hall to Wade's room, where I found him and Ella sitting, talking quietly. She was crying her eyes out, and she said that she was okay and that nothing was wrong, but then she began speaking of Bonnie and Christmases past. Then she told him that she wanted to believe in Mr. Kringle more than anything but only would if she got her Christmas wish."

"And you assumed that her heart's desire was for you to stay for Christmas?"

"The thought had occurred to me."

"That was what she wanted last year. It didn't happen, oddly enough."

"I realize that."

"I thought you might have come, too."

"What gave you that indication?" He blew out smoke along with the question.

"It was the first Christmas since Bonnie … and Melly …" She didn't possess enough strength to finish her sentence.

He gave her a look while waiting for her to do so. She tried to decipher the meaning of it in her head: He either thinks that I'm too cold and unfeeling to mourn Melly and our daughter; or that I'm deliberately lying to him; or maybe I'm just attempting to lure him back into my web.

"I thought that you would have been there," she finished lamely, already backing away, "I was wrong."

She thought of a few other things to tell him too. Things like if he doesn't really want to be a part of this family then I'll just go along home to the children and we'll spend the evening at Ashley's. He'd be sorry then. But she didn't say it because she didn't think he'd care one bit if she left. Actually, he'd probably prefer it.

"Why did you want to meet, Scarlett?"

That hadn't been what she was expecting. His dark face tilted a bit to the right while his black eyes stared. Then there he was, standing over her, looking down at her. Was he waiting for something? Well, she had no intention of begging or crying, if that's what he thought. And he wasn't even going to be completely certain that he still held any power over her.

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean."

He looked down at his watch and pulled a folded piece of paper out from the inside pocket of his coat. "A letter, in your handwriting, I believe."

She skimmed over it. "I wrote no such thing."

"Why, Scarlett? Why! You answer me!"

"I did not write you a note, you fool!"

The most direct route to the door was straight past him. Surely once she reached the door her breathing would return.

"Please. Just tell me why."

She looked back at him, bewildered. What the devil was he running on about? She really wanted to know. What new little something had someone spread around about her, in the form of a letter?

His lips were sucked together in anticipation. "Allow me to refresh your memory. A divorce, Scarlett? I was under the impression that a divorce was not your desire. At least, that was your response to my offer as of last week."

She now had _no_ idea as to what he had heard. Divorce? "Well, Rhett, I don't know if I should tell you this or not, but -" She wasn't sure herself just where this was going to end up, but she was enjoying it in spite of herself, "-somebody told me that they had a first cousin that finalized her divorce, and she was married the very next year to someone ten times better."

She supposed that he didn't find her sarcasm amusing, because he was stone silent. Then, he grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her like a child.

"You listen to me! Hold me here, if you must. Imprison me as you always have. Rip my heart out and throw it to the wolves but don't you dare, don't you dare do this." His face was a pasty white. "Don't you do it!" His breath was coming in quick, heavy gasps.

"Rhett, you fool! Did you honestly think that I - Rhett!"

Rhett, his hands outstretched before him, froze. His face was like she had never beheld it, dazed with horror. Then, he clapped his hands to his eyes and backed towards the door.

"If you walk out that door …" she threatened. "Now, I did not write you any letter. On my life, I did not. Would you please explain what's gotten you so excited?"

"Who wrote it then? Signed it _Scarlett _and wanted to discuss the matter of our divorce at Bonnie's gravesite? And I quote, let the only pure portion of our marriage bear witness to it's dissolution."

"Does that sound like me, truly?"

He gave a small smile. "I assumed Ashley had a hand in it."

"No. Not Ashley. Never Ashley," she said emphatically, and then from somewhere within her came crying.

Abruptly, he started toward her, and took her by the hand. She tried to find her voice as she felt his large hand squeeze her small one.

"I'm sorry," she sniffed. "I don't know what's come over me. I suppose it's the thought of you walking out that door. Of losing you again. You've walked out so many times and each time I wonder if I'll ever see you again. And I wanted so very much for you just to realize that you had forgiven me and that you were ready to come home for good, that you still cared…if only a little."

Rhett brought her hand to the ever so slightly moist corners of his own eyes. "And to think, my dear, I gave you my last and most favorite handkerchief. I don't suppose that you could oblige me?"

She laughed aloud at that. "I must have mislaid it after you'd been particularly nasty."

"But surely you understand why I was - and why I had to leave. We both knew that I couldn't stay, Scarlett. It had to happen and I think you know that. Otherwise, you would have tried to fight it."

"No I did not!" She took a deep breath. "I didn't think that you would really leave. And when you did, I assumed that you'd be back after a few days with that Watling woman. But days became a week, two weeks became a month, and here we are, Rhett. It's just as you said the other night, the children are old enough to know the truth. It makes no sense to keep up the façade any longer. But I never stopped hoping, even then …"

"Scarlett, I don't think-"

"Don't talk anymore, please. Now, I listened to you last weekend. If you'd be so kind as to return the favor, I'd be mighty grateful." It was her burden to tote, and she would continue if it killed her - but she had to try. "Rhett, if you would just consider staying on for good. Rhett, I…what I'm trying to tell you is-"

His thumb pressed against her palm. "You know what you're asking is impossible, but if you're saying that you love me-"

"Yes," she answered. "And I'd never in a million years have admitted it if I hadn't seen for myself that you truly do care, because I assumed that you had stopped caring about me, and about Wade and Ella. But you do care, and even if you think I'm crazy, I'm going to say it anyway. Because it's Christmas, I suppose. And Mr. Kringle would probably tell me that it was the right thing to do…"

"Then know this, Scarlett, it's not completely one-sided. I love you too, and, despite my manifold actions that might have suggested the opposite- I have missed you while I've been away."

She drew in a breath and said the first thing that came to her mind: "I believe, I believe, I believe!"

Rhett laughed. "Believe in what? Miracles? Second chances at happiness?"

"No. Santa Claus. He knew what I wanted for Christmas without me saying a thing."

"This is going to involve a good deal of effort, Mrs. Butler, on both of our parts. And trust, which is something that we both lack. All that is practical within me is urging me to flee, quickly."

"Faith means believing in something, even when common sense tells you not to," Scarlett remembered aloud something that Wade Hampton had said to her as they had left the courthouse.

"Who said that?" Rhett wondered aloud.

"Wade Hampton."

"Smart boy."

"Yes he is. And he happens to be right. Just because things don't turn out the way you thought they would or the way you might have wanted them to the first time, you've still got to believe in people. I found that out, too, thanks to a nice old friend of mine."

She didn't know if she saw it coming, but something within her _felt _it. Her chin tilted upward and her eyes closed. Then his lips touched hers, and lingered there briefly before, grudgingly, parting.

"Let's go home, Mrs. Butler. I have a bet to collect on."

**. . . .**

Peachtree Street had become, in the last several years, one of the greenest and most elegant residential areas in Atlanta. The road itself was narrow, and ran betwixt the fine homes which adorned it on either side, each more grand than the previous as the street went on.

Wade nudged Ella, who had fallen asleep on the carriage ride home from the store Christmas party. "Hey, sleepyhead, wake up." She looked up at him reproachfully, like Cinderella being disturbed from waltzing with the prince. "Come on, we're almost home. You can go straight to bed just like Mother said."

Her expression shifted only slightly. "Not sleepy," she murmured before returning her head to his shoulder. "Wanna wait for Mother."

"She's going to be quite some time getting the store back in order," Wade explained. "We'll see her in the morning. It's only seven o'clock or so."

And there it was - home. The Swiss-style chalet with the mansard roof and the stained glass windows that their mother was so proud of. Before the two of them reached the front steps, they saw that Prissy was already at the door, along with Pork and … Uncle Ashley and Beau?

"What are you doing here?" Wade asked, without shaking hands.

"It's a surprise," Beau grinned.

"Your mother hasn't exactly had the time to prepare a Christmas dinner, what with the hubbub with Kris and with the party at the store. We thought that we'd help, didn't we, Beau?" Uncle Ashley explained. "Wash up, both of you. Aunt Pittypat and Uncle Henry are both due to arrive at any moment. I'd like to have everything set before your mother gets here."

"You did all this? And the decorations, too?" Ella asked, her eyes wide as she took in the changes to the room that had occurred in their absence.

"We sure did! Smell the kitchen, Wade, that's _turkey_ cooking, smell it?"

"Turkey?" Wade was surprised. They never had had turkey for Christmas dinner, ever. Roast chicken with gravy was the norm, with the rare exception of swan - that had been the meat course his first Christmas with Uncle Rhett as his stepfather. His mother had been sick as a dog then, and Bonnie had shown up the following summer.

From the kitchen, the sweet aroma of cooking filled his nostrils. Roast turkey and simmering carrots with cinnamon and fresh pies and even the delicious scent of …

"Fried apples, too? My favorite!"

Then, from the front foyer, a voice: "Where is everyone?"

Wade and Ella were there in less than a jiffy. An automatic response to the voice that they both longed to hear more than any in the world.

Wade could feel her arms circling him. "My big boy. And Ella, my baby girl." He could smell the verbena scent that he always associated with his mother…and a man's musk?

"Uncle Rhett!" he cried aloud with pleasure.

"We finally gave up on you," Ella said, having found a resting place for her head on Uncle Rhett's shoulder. Wade's mother kept her arm around his shoulder, and he felt as safe as one freshly born.

"I'm sorry, Ella. So, so, sorry. Can you forgive a foolish old man for being just that?"

"You're not so foolish, Uncle Rhett," Wade's sweet sister replied, shaking her head.

"I am. Very foolish. For you see, I made a bet …"

"The bet!" Ella exclaimed delightedly, "I almost forgot, but you were right, Uncle Rhett! You were right about everything. About Mr. Kringle. Of course…" her voice lost some of her enthusiasm, "…it isn't Christmas yet, and I don't know if he…well…if he could help."

"Is that - Ashley?" Wade heard his mother say. He told himself to forget his irritation, but he didn't want her to get distracted from the moment at hand, not when Uncle Rhett was standing so close to her and touching her shoulder so…lovingly?

"They're cooking a feast, Mother," Ella explained, "and Uncle Henry and Aunt Pitty are both coming, and Beau is here and Dilcey and Pork and Joel. It's like having the whole family together for Christmas."

Wade thought that he noticed Uncle Rhett's eyebrows raise as he exchanged a glance with their mother. "Would you have ever thought that your mean old Uncle Rhett would have missed it? Well, of course you would. And I'm very, very sorry, for ever letting you down. I'll try to do better in the future. That is of course, if…" he cleared his throat, "_Princess _Katherine Scarlett O'Hara Butler of Castle Tara would be inclined to invite her loathsome ogre of a husband back into the castle?"

"Really? You're kidding me!" Wade heard himself blurt out.

Rhett put a look of mock hurt on his face. "Well, if I am unwanted…"

"No-o-o-o!" said Ella, "We want you to stay, oh please, please, please! You mean it?"

"Ask your mother."

Wade glanced up at his mother, whose face had visibly brightened with pleasure. "Well, I do declare, Captain Butler, what woman could resist such a winsome offer. I suppose we can allow you to stay. What do you say, Wade Hampton, since you've been head of the house for quite some time now?"

Wade felt short an adequate answer, so he sufficed with nodding his head in an enthusiastic Yes.

"Take a good look, my dear," Uncle Rhett addressed Ella, "you've borne witness to a miracle today here in Atlanta. I have managed to beat your mother's Irish-derived common sense by proving legally that a little old man is none other than Santa Claus. Amazing! Now then, that food smells absolutely wonderful. Your Royal Highness, may I have your arm?"

"I wonder if Mr. Kringle will remember the second part of my wish," Ella wondered aloud. "I wouldn't want to seem greedy, of course, but I hope that he does."

"Good Lord, Ella," their mother said affectionately, "what else did you ask Mr. Kringle for?"

"A baby brother," Ella said cheerfully, then marched in the direction of the kitchen.

Wade watched his parents' expressions, first panicked, then accepting, then - kissing. And more kissing. They didn't need an audience, he figured.

Besides, he had his wish, and he had his miracle. All was well on Peachtree Street.


End file.
